


Thirty Third Dates

by Murder_Kitten



Series: Dates, Happiness And Fate [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dating, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, Romantic Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 43,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murder_Kitten/pseuds/Murder_Kitten
Summary: Everyone knows what the third date means … but despite the perfectly planned third date, the walls Pansy has built around her heart and life remain firmly in place. Neville will go on as many third dates as it takes to gain her trust and help her put the ghosts of her past to rest...Multichap. Complete.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Series: Dates, Happiness And Fate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123187
Comments: 277
Kudos: 59
Collections: Paneville





	1. The Antidote

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gcgraywriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gcgraywriter/gifts), [Mariana_Monteverde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariana_Monteverde/gifts), [RubyLipsStarryEyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyLipsStarryEyes/gifts), [TheUltimateUndesirable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUltimateUndesirable/gifts).



> Disclaimer: the characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. I make no profit from these works. All stories are for fun and entertainment only.
> 
> I always welcome reviews/comments of people who enjoy my works. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoy it.

Neville glanced around his flat anxiously. It wasn’t _that_ untidy, was it? It was _lived in,_ he told himself, resorting to a phrase Uncle Algie had often used to mollify Auntie Enid when she was in a snit about the house not being in a fit state to receive visitors. And Neville planned on receiving visitors tonight. A very special visitor in fact. When he had bought this flat a good ten months ago, he had never expected to be entertaining visitors, much less a lady friend. Neville much preferred this term to the word _girlfriend._ Girlfriend was so juvenile. It was a term children used. And his visitor was not a child. She was a woman, a sophisticated, beautiful, intelligent, refined, young woman. 

In the past month, Pansy Parkinson had somehow morphed from schoolyard tormentor to treasured lady-love, and all it had taken was one grown-up conversation, two dates and three kisses - Neville had counted them. He was counting tonight too. It was to be their third date. Everyone knew what the third date meant. Well, everyone familiar with modern pop-culture references at least. Third dates meant sex. Intimacy. Love making. The dance with no pants. Fucking. Neville blushed crimson at even thinking the word. Gran didn’t tolerate profanity in her house. But this wasn’t Gran’s house, it was Neville’s. He could say ‘fucking’ if he wanted to. No, he couldn’t, he realised, shaking his head. His strict upbringing was too ingrained to disregard. 

Dutifully, he began to tidy the small flat; his mum’s old china erumpent was dusted and lined up with the small jars of interesting pebbles he had collected on walks, new guest towels were hung up in the bathroom and the fancy soap was set out, dishes were washed and dried and put away, the cushions on the sofa were fluffed and arranged just so, the dining table was wiped down and set with placemats and candles and a pretty purple rose in a jar as the simple, yet elegant, centrepiece, the bed was made and the bookshelves were straightened, a quick _scourgify_ charm was muttered for any lingering dust, and then it was time to put the dinner on. Witches loved a wizard who could cook, or so Neville had heard. 

He had gone all out tonight and retrieved the family recipe book from Auntie Enid so that he could make one of his favourite meals for Pansy: Apricot Chicken. It was simple, delicious, rustic and presented prettily on a plate. Neville could remember begging for this meal repeatedly as a child, especially for birthdays, but sometimes for Christmas. Gran always refused to cook Apricot Chicken on Christmas though. Christmas was Turkey Day; it wasn’t Apricot Chicken Day. It was never Apricot Chicken Day often enough for Neville. But sometimes Gran would make an apricot sauce on Christmas Day and set a little jug of it next to his plate with a smile. Apricot Turkey was almost as good as Apricot Chicken after all. 

Today, however, _was_ Apricot Chicken Day; Neville could hardly wait. He hadn’t cooked much lately. _Ever,_ in fact, but he was sure it couldn’t be that difficult. _Just follow the recipe and it’ll be fine_ , he told himself. _It’ll be better than fine, it’s Apricot Chicken._

Pansy arrived in the midst of Neville’s dinner preparations. He greeted her with a tender kiss on the cheek and took her coat. She was wearing a simple black dress tonight that revealed a tantalising glimpse of cleavage and was so short, the hem rested halfway up her thighs when she was seated. Neville tried not to stare,and poured her a glass of white wine, blushing furiously as he returned to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. 

Pansy followed him and perched on the edge of the kitchen counter to watch as Neville set the rice to boil in a pot on the back of the stove and consulted Auntie Enid’s recipe for the next step. The chicken was to be fried and then simmer for twenty minutes in a sauce of apricot nectar. Thirty minutes later, a flustered Neville served Pansy a dinner of burnt rice, watery apricot sauce and undercooked chicken that was still raw in the middle. 

To her credit, Pansy made no complaint, but washed the terrible meal down with frequent sips of wine, continuing to smile and chat away about this and that, seeming quite at her ease. Or at least, she _did,_ right up to the point when her eyes widened with panic, and clutching a linen napkin to her mouth, she hurried to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. 

“Pansy? Is everything okay?” Neville called through the door after a few moments. 

The only reply he received, however, was the sound of Pansy vomiting violently into the toilet. 

A dozen profuse apologies later, in addition to stomach cramps and a fever, saw the pair of them making a late night trip to St Mungo’s where the Healers diagnosed Pansy with food poisoning and prescribed her a phial of ‘Antidote to Common Poisons.’ Neville felt terrible, and it wasn’t just the bad chicken. As far as third dates went, this was a disaster. Not only had he failed to impress Pansy, he had literally _poisoned her!_ If she ever agreed to go on another date with him, it would be a miracle. 

“Neville?” Pansy said, as he escorted her to her door. 

“Yes?” came the guilt-ridden reply. 

“We should do this again. You know, without the poisoning and the hospital trip,” she added with a smirk. 

_Miracle,_ Neville’s mind declared. 

“Are you asking me out?” Neville said hopefully. 

“No,” Pansy said, definitely smirking now. “I’m just offering you a do-over. I’m nice like that.”

“I accept,” Neville said with a little chuckle, as Pansy let herself into the building that housed her flat. 

“Saturday, at the little park at the end of the street, 2:30,” Pansy said. “Don’t be late,” she added with a wink, carding her fingers through his hair affectionately as they bid each other goodnight. 

Neville supposed it wasn’t the worst date he’d ever had. At least Pansy had given him a chance to make it up to her with a second third date. He wouldn’t mess it up this time, that much he was sure of. 


	2. Autumn Leaves

Saturday morning passed in a torturous whirl of anxiety as Neville counted down the hours and minutes to his second third date with Pansy. After the fiasco of the Apricot Chicken, he was desperate to make it up to her with some kind of romantic gesture. But he was torn between the extremes of doing too much or on the other hand, not doing enough. If he did too much, made too grand of a gesture, it was entirely possible that he could scare her off or embarrass her if he was too overeager. Conversely, if he didn’t do enough, or made it appear that he wasn’t that invested in their relationship, Pansy may decide she was wasting her time with him and choose to walk away. Of course, she may well decide to walk away from him anyway and choose to spend her evenings with a wizard who wouldn’t poison her with his cooking. Auntie Enid had owled to ask about the success of the Apricot Chicken. Neville hadn’t yet had the courage to write back and tell her that it had been a complete failure. 

But, today was a new day, he reminded himself, glancing out the living room window as a sudden movement caught his eye. But it was just the wind rustling through the branches of the tree that stood outside his flat. A cascade of leaves drifted past the window and fluttered to the ground - bright autumn reds, oranges and yellows soon lost to the browning leaves that littered the ground. They would make good compost for his rooftop garden, Neville thought. He had half a mind to go collect them, but there really wasn’t time. If he had to choose between a few leaves and Pansy, he was definitely choosing Pansy.

He slipped a light jacket on over his button down shirt and wound a knitted scarf around his throat to ward off the chill of the wind. The soft, brown and grey scarf had been knitted by Hermione. Her sewing skills had much improved under Molly Weasley’s tutelage these past months. Neville was surprised that Hermione found time for such hobbies, considering she was now the youngest Justice of the Wizengamot in over a century, but then, she always had found time for her friends. And speaking of time… Neville quickly pocketed his wand and left the flat, making his way to the apparition point on the corner. If he stayed much longer mulling things over, he would be late for his date. 

* * *

Pansy looked beautiful, Neville thought. Her appearance was much improved when she wasn’t deathly pale with the effects of food poisoning. Today, she had used a lengthening charm on her hair; the long raven locks hung midway down her back and Neville had to fight to keep himself from playing with the silken strands. It was hardly fair that the autumn breeze got to play with Pansy’s hair and he didn’t. In keeping with the chilly day, she wore an oversized knitted jumper over leggings and tall boots that almost reached her thighs. Neville found her just as attractive in more casual attire like this as he did the little black dress she had worn a few nights ago. She may even be more beautiful like this, because this version of Pansy was carrying two tall takeaway cups of hot chocolate, perfect for a breezy autumn day.

“Hi,” Neville said, his lips forming into a smile without conscious thought. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling when he looked at her. 

“Hi, yourself. Love the scarf,” Pansy said, passing Neville one of the cups. 

“Thanks,” he said, adjusting the scarf self-consciously. He needn’t have bothered to adjust it, however, as Pansy tugged on it playfully, pulling Neville’s face down to meet hers and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. She tasted like cherry, Neville thought, deepening the kiss and tangling his free hand in her hair. 

After a few moments, he broke the kiss and smiled down at Pansy, whose cheeks were now flushed pink. 

“Feeling better I see,” Neville said teasingly.

“Much,” Pansy replied, elbowing him in the ribs. “But I haven’t had chicken for a few days. Might be something to do with that,” she said cheekily, winking at him. 

“I’m so--”

“No apologies, Neville. They bore me,” Pansy said, snatching up a handful of rain dampened autumn leaves and dumping them down the back of his jumper instead. 

Neville jumped from the shock of the cold leaves against his skin, his eyes meeting hers, which fairly sparkled with mischief. 

“Now, we’re even,” Pansy grinned, setting her cup down. 

“Not quite,” Neville said daringly, scooping up his own handful of leaves, and setting his cup next to hers. 

“Catch me if you can,” Pansy said, taking off at a run, and giggling as Neville gave chase and caught her within moments, dumping his leaves over her head with a laugh. 

But Pansy wasn’t one to take things lying down and promptly shoved him into the largest pile of leaves Neville had ever seen, almost burying him in them as she joined him in the pile of leaves and tickled him, making Neville laugh until he almost couldn’t breathe. 

“What a mess,” Pansy commented as they lay amongst the leaves, still at last. 

“You started it,” Neville said, brushing a few leaves from her hair. 

“Finish it then,” Pansy said daringly, as Neville leaned in and captured her lips in another kiss. 

This was perfection, he thought. Nothing could ruin this moment… That is, until the Muggle groundskeeper found them and ordered them away from his carefully raked pile of leaves. Pansy’s giggles echoed all the way down the street, as Neville suggested they move the remainder of the date back to her place. Pansy heartily agreed. 


	3. Bathtime

"Nice place," Neville said admiringly, as Pansy unlocked the door to her first-floor flat and let him inside. The interior of the flat had obviously been magically expanded. Neville tried hard to quash the tiny flare of jealousy at that. His own flat could do with some magical expanding. He would have to talk to Hermione about it; she was known to be handy with undetectable extension charms. 

Charming double french doors on the left were standing open; the room itself doubled as both music room and artist studio, with a piano in front of a large window on one side and easels, tins of paint and brushes neatly arranged on the other side of the room. 

"Sorry, it's a bit of a mess," Pansy said, pulling the French doors shut quickly, a faint blush tinging her cheeks. Neville noted her reaction and looked at her curiously. The room wasn't a mess; he had seen enough to know that, but there was obviously something in there she didn't want him to see. 

"Did I tell you apologies bore me?" Neville said with a smile, quoting Pansy's own words back at her. 

"Funny," Pansy replied, her lips twitching into a half smile. "Would you like some tea?" she offered quickly, leading Neville past a master bedroom and bathroom on the left and entering an open plan kitchen and dining area, hanging her purse over the back of a chair. 

"Sure," Neville said with a shrug, looking around. Large abstract paintings hung side by side on the living room walls and Neville studied them, wondering if they had been painted by Pansy herself. Initials were painted in green in the lower right corner of each painting. _P.P - Pansy Parkinson?_ Neville wondered, accepting the hot cup of tea she handed him a moment later. 

"Did you paint these?" Neville asked. 

"No, they're the work of a Muggle artist," Pansy answered quickly, _too quickly,_ Neville noted. He wasn't usually a suspicious person, but as a habitually honest wizard, he wasn't easily lied to. 

"They're nice," Neville said, turning to examine a third piece of art that was leaning against the opposite side of the sofa. 

"What's that in your hair?" Pansy asked, and Neville twisted around quickly. 

"What?" he said, reaching to touch the back of his head, a smear of dark mud now coating his palm. 

"Must be from the leaves," Neville realised, setting down his teacup and rinsing the mud off his hand in the kitchen sink. 

"You can use my shower if you like," Pansy offered. "It will be harder to get out once it dries," she added. 

"If it's not a bother," Neville said, glancing in the direction of the bathroom. 

"It's fine," Pansy said. "I'll get you a towel." 

She had handed it to him before she seemed to remember something. 

"The shower head isn't working properly. I forgot," Pansy said with a frown. "The landlord is supposed to come round and fix it tomorrow. I tried with the _Reparo_ charm of course, but it didn't do any good. You could have a bath instead if you like." 

_A bath?_ Neville tried not to wrinkle his nose at the idea. He wasn't much of a bath person. He didn't even have a tub in his flat. 

"Will it be very rude of me to leave you by yourself?" Neville said hesitantly. It was a _date_ after all. Shouldn't he be a gentleman? 

"Don't be silly. I'll be fine. Go on," Pansy said with a wave of her hand. 

"I won't be too long," Neville promised, shutting the bathroom door behind him. 

He turned the bath taps, letting the water run, and fiddling with the temperature until he was happy. Turning, he noticed that bath products were neatly stacked on a shelf. A bottle at the far end of the line of products caught his eye. 

"Double Bubble Daydream," Neville muttered, picking up a bottle of bubble-bath with a faint floral scent that he thought might have been violet. Shrugging, he poured a fair amount into the tub, the pearly liquid flowing out of the bottle a little faster than he had anticipated. Before long, foaming bubbles were level with the edge of the tub. Neville stripped his clothes off, letting them pool on the floor; then turned off the water and stepped into the tub, wincing a little as the hot water touched his skin, though he soon found the warmth and rising steam spirals were starting to relax him as he slid a little further into the tub, letting the water come up his chest. 

* * *

He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the warm water. He thought he might have fallen asleep for a few minutes, but he was certainly awake now. 

"What are you doing?" Neville said, startled to see Pansy entering the bathroom. He was suddenly very aware that he was naked and was thankful for the bubbles preserving his modesty. 

"I live here," Pansy said with a shrug, kicking off her boots and socks, before discarding the rest of her clothes and climbing into the tub with Neville. 

"Pansy--" Neville stuttered as her dark lust-filled eyes met his. 

Shhhhhhh...." she said with a wink, as her hand disappeared beneath the water. Neville gasped when she began to stroke him, coaxing a moan from his lips. 

There was a gentle knock at the door, and Pansy's voice called out "Neville, is everything okay in there?" 

"Wh--what?" Neville stammered, as bath-Pansy disappeared into thin air with a wink. 

"You've been in there for over an hour," Pansy told him through the door. 

"Yeah, just-- just washing my hair," Neville called back, splashing a little to make his point. "I'll be out in a minute." 

"Take your time," Pansy called back. "I'll order takeout for dinner, shall I? Is Chinese okay?" 

"Sure, sounds great!" Neville replied, as Pansy left. 

_What the hell had that been?_ He was sure Pansy had been in the bathroom with him only a moment ago, that she'd-- He snatched up the bottle of Double Bubble Daydream and turned it over to read the back of the bottle. 

_Double Bubble Daydream - maximum indulgence. Wrap your senses in dreams with our Double Bubble Daydream bath products. Guaranteed to provide a fantasy to facilitate your ultimate delight and relaxation. Use with caution - Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in no way guarantees or will be held liable for the quality, content or duration of said Daydream._

Neville set the bottle back down and buried his face in his hands. A dream...that's all it was. Double Bubble - more like double trouble. He groaned, quickly rinsing his hair and climbing out of the bathtub. He hoped to _Merlin_ that Pansy hadn't heard any odd noises coming from the bathroom. 

He quickly drained the tub, then dried himself and dressed, smoothing his damp hair into place before going to meet Pansy for dinner. He strove to keep his expression carefully neutral, no way was Pansy ever finding out about this… 


	4. A Broken Heel

Neville tugged at the collar of his dress robes. They were tight, itchy and uncomfortable, and that about summed up his feelings about the evening ahead. His dress robes were tighter than he remembered, he was itching to get it over with, and he was uncomfortable with the whole idea of the date Pansy had planned for them. Firstly, it was a double date with Hermione and Theo. And secondly, well, _secondly,_ it was a date. His fourth date with Pansy and he was yet to get through _one_ without embarrassing himself in some utterly ridiculous way. 

The thing he was most nervous about, however, was that Pansy was being strangely cryptic about the details. Last Saturday, she had transfigured a napkin into a silk tie, charmed it into a portkey and told him Tuesday at seven. The rest was a mystery. He had only found out that Hermione and Theo were coming too when Hermione had dropped by to give him a cute beanie and scarf she had made for his Mimbulus Mimbletonia. If the plant’s odd murmuring noises were any indication, it highly approved of Hermione’s gift. 

He felt a gradual warmth against his chest as his tie suddenly glowed blue, and the room disappeared in a whirl of colour as he was pulled forward, landing in a darkened alley. Neville looked around at the darkened shop-fronts and dimly lit street, his skin prickling with nerves and a little fear. He could just glimpse the name of the shop down the very end, _Borgin and Burkes._ Why would Pansy bring him to Knockturn Alley for a date? Unless her idea of a good time was getting cursed, mugged or murdered. Neville looked over his shoulder anxiously. He wasn’t allowed to go to Knockturn Alley… Gran had been telling him that since he was five years old. Although, truth be told, he had been to Knockturn before. Twice, in fact, with a very drunk Uncle Algie. 

“There you are!” a voice exclaimed and Neville jumped about three feet. 

“Don’t _do_ that,” Neville complained, trying to calm his racing heart as he looked down into Pansy’s dark eyes which fairly sparkled with amusement. 

“You scare easy,” Pansy laughed, tucking her arm in his and leading him deeper into Knockturn Alley. 

“No, I don’t,” Neville protested, though his pulse was still thrumming with nerves. 

“Luckily for me,” Pansy said with a smirk. “Here we are,” she announced, stopping in front of a derelict, abandoned shop. 

Neville frowned, utterly confused. 

“Come on,” Pansy said, tugging him forward and pressing her hand against the boarded up front window, which seemed to shimmer under her touch, before melting away. 

Neville gaped as the dusty, derelict illusion faded, to be replaced with a nightclub that was, in a word: hopping. Literally. Amongst the energetic dancers and laser lights were little rabbits in waistcoats and top hats, bearing trays of drinks through the crowd, as the floppy eared waiters skipped on their hindlegs. 

“There’s Theo!” Pansy exclaimed, pointing to the bar, where Hermione was cocooned in the arms of the former Slytherin, not exactly dancing, more swaying on the spot, while Theo popped a cherry from his martini glass into Hermione’s open mouth. Neville stared. He'd known Hermione was dating Theo, but he’d pictured sedate dinners in expensive restaurants or Hermione dragging Theo around a bookshop for an afternoon, not the public displays of affection the pair was apparently entirely comfortable with.

Pansy led Neville across the crowded dance floor to the bar where Theo and Hermione were wrapped around each other. 

“Hey, lover-boy, hands to yourself,” Pansy said with a grin, swatting Theo’s arm playfully. 

“What?” Theo said with a roll of his eyes, releasing Hermione reluctantly, as she blushed and greeted Neville with a shy wave. 

“You know exactly what,” Pansy said, shaking her head. “Firewhiskey first or do you want to dance?” Pansy asked Neville, who was watching the waiter rabbits with interest. 

“Firewhiskey,” Neville said boldly. 

“Smart man,” Theo said, rapping the counter with his knuckles. The bartender quickly filled a row of shot glasses with an amber liquid that Neville recognised. He’d never tried firewhiskey himself. Gran didn’t approve. 

He’d drained the glass before he recognised the wizard behind the counter. 

“Zabini?” Neville said in surprise. 

“Longbottom,” Blaise said quietly, with a dip of his head. “Made some new friends I see.” 

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Neville said with a slight frown, thinking back over his conversations with Pansy. He was certain she hadn’t mentioned anything about Blaise working in a club. Wasn’t his mother fabulously wealthy? 

“I don’t work here,” Blaise replied. “I own the club.” 

“Oh. It’s nice,” Neville said awkwardly. “I like the rabbits.”

“Thanks,” Blaise said, refilling the glasses for the group. “Do you see much of the Weasley’s these days?” he asked abruptly, almost as though he hadn’t meant to ask, and the question had slipped out without his volition. 

“Not much, no,” Neville shrugged. “Ron's with the Auror Office now and George is pretty busy with the shop and Ginny’s away a lot training with the Harpies. She’s going to go pro next year if Jones lets her off the reserve squad.” 

Blaise nodded. “Figures,” he said with a half laugh. “Always had a thing for her,” he admitted, downing a shot of firewhiskey. 

“Ginny?” Neville said in surprise, downing another shot himself, so he wouldn’t have to see the regret in Blaise’s dark eyes. 

“Yeah, never would’ve worked anyway. Different worlds I suppose. Forget I said anything,” Blaise shrugged, turning away, as Pansy excused herself from a lively conversation with Theo and Hermione, coming to curl an arm around Neville’s shoulders. 

“How about a dance?” she said, winking at Blaise. 

“Sure,” Neville said with an easy smile. “Are those shoes okay to dance in though?” he asked, glancing at the high heels Pansy wore. 

“Are you kidding?” she said with a grin. “These are my lucky shoes!”

“What’s lucky about them?” Neville asked, allowing Pansy to lead him onto the dance floor.

“That would be telling,” Pansy winked, allowing Neville to twirl her around gracefully, before he settled a hand on her waist. They began with a gentle waltz, but Neville grew steadily more irritated as wizard after wizard sidled up to Pansy while she danced, attempting to flirt with her while Neville literally had his arms around her. 

He said nothing though, but continued to dance with her, determined not to let it ruin the night. The music changed tempo and Pansy began to dance faster and faster, her feet seeming to fly, never missing a step, until there was a sharp _crack_ and she stumbled. 

“Are you alright?” Neville asked anxiously, fearing the sharp sound may indicate she had injured her ankle. 

“My heel broke,” Pansy said with a pout, sitting on the floor to remove the offending shoe. 

“I’m sorry,” Neville said immediately. 

“What did I say about apologies?” Pansy said sternly, though there was a twinkle in her eye. 

“They’re boring,” Neville said, shaking his head. “What about shoe shopping?” he asked.

“You want to take me shoe shopping?” Pansy said, looking doubtful as she played with the broken heel. 

“I don’t mind. We can find you some new lucky shoes,” he said with a grin.

“They _were_ lucky!” Pansy exclaimed. 

“I believe you,” Neville promised, helping her to her feet. Pansy kicked both shoes off and promptly and unabashedly went barefoot. 

The rest of the night passed without incident, though the memory of Theo trying to teach Hermione how to flirt was one that would stay with Neville for a long time. 

“Next time, let’s go somewhere with food,” Pansy complained, as Neville apparated her home to her flat. 

“It was your idea,” Neville grinned. “And it was great!” he added hastily as Pansy’s threatening glare faded from her face and she laughed. 

“You can plan the next date then,” Pansy said, with mock offence. 

“There’s going to be another one?” Neville asked. 

“Had enough of me, have you?” Pansy replied. 

“Never,” Neville declared, leaning in to plant a sweet kiss on her lips. 

By the time he went home to his flat, his mind was a whirl of possible date scenarios. He needed to plan the perfect evening. And Pansy had stipulated that there must be food. One thing Neville was certain wouldn’t be on the menu in the near future… Apricot Chicken.


	5. La Chandelle (the candle)

Pansy scrutinised her reflection critically. She couldn’t decide how to wear her hair tonight and it was driving her House-Black crazy. Should it be up? Down? Long? Short? Should she braid it? Tie it back? Pin it up? She sighed and set down the brush. Dating would be so much easier if she was still living with her parents. Pureblood tradition meant that her parents chose the who, the what, the when, the where, and the how of courtship. All Pansy had to do was show up with a chaperone and look pretty. But no, she had chosen to break with generations of custom and do this insane independent thing. She had taken not a single knut of her dad’s money, and had instead accepted a junior position with the Department of Magical Transportation, specifically the Floo Network Authority. 

She had wanted to join the Healer program at St Mungo’s Hospital originally, but she had found the idea of returning to Hogwarts to complete her studies and sitting N.E.W.T’s abhorrent. It wasn’t the idea of furthering her education that was difficult, but rather her reputation within Hogwarts as ‘the witch who betrayed Harry Potter to You Know Who,’ which was utterly ridiculous. She hadn’t betrayed Potter; she’d only _tried_ to, and she’d been unfailingly open in her intentions; she had in fact announced it in front of the entire student body. Nobody understood her reasoning at the time.

Her father’s reticence to openly support Voldemort’s cause had resulted in the kidnapping of Pansy’s little sister, Poppy, early in the war. But what Pansy hadn’t known at the time of the battle was that the seven-year-old child was already dead, mauled by Greyback months earlier at Malfoy Manor. So being the fool she was, Pansy had ruined her reputation publicly and it had all been for nothing. Or it had been, until very recently. Until Neville. He had been the first person to treat her with genuine kindness since… well, it had been so long, she couldn’t remember. Neville didn’t have an agenda. He made her feel safe and important and _listened to._ In pureblood circles, Pansy was nothing. But with Neville, for those few precious hours, she was _everything._

She abandoned the mirror with a flounce. She didn’t have to look perfect for Neville. She wasn’t going out with him to _earn_ a betrothal or a place at his side. She was going out with him because he was sweet and kind and gentle, and that was what she needed right now. Not someone with an ego to feed or an agenda to figure out, just someone who was secure enough to be himself and find that it was enough. And when he was enough, inevitably, Pansy felt like she was enough too. 

* * *

Pansy arrived early at the restaurant to find Neville already waiting for her, playing with a pale blue tealight candle in a jar. Seeing Pansy, he quickly returned the candle to the centre of the table and stood, coming to greet her with a hug. The admiring look in his eyes was not lost on Pansy and she blushed, allowing Neville to pull out her chair for her and settle a linen napkin across her lap. 

“This is beautiful,” Pansy said, glancing around the restaurant which was already half full of diners. It was one of the newest, most popular (and expensive) French restaurants in Diagon Alley. La Chandelle had replaced Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour after Florean had gone missing during the war and never been found. Aurors had called off the search years ago, and a new owner had transformed the charming ice cream parlour into an upper class restaurant that was known to be frequented by the Minister for Magic himself. 

“Shall we order?” Pansy asked, glancing around for a waiter and intending to call for a pair of menus. 

“I already did,” Neville admitted. 

“You ordered for me?” Pansy asked, surprised. 

“Is that okay?” Neville asked, filling a champagne glass for her. 

“You seem pretty confident,” Pansy commented, sipping at her drink. 

“I am,” Neville replied with a little toss of his head that nearly made Pansy spit champagne. She set the glass aside with a little snicker. 

“Very well. Surprise me,” she said daringly. 

The first course was brought to the table a short time later - fougasse bread baked in a wood oven. Pansy relished the crispy crust, savouring the spongy bread which was cooked perfectly, chewy and soft, with just a hint of smokiness from the wood fire. This was followed by a yellowfin tuna tartare with a side of cucumber, salted lemon and coriander. Pansy dove into the delicate dish with vigour. She hadn’t had such sophisticated food in months, _years,_ maybe. And it was the last thing she had expected from Neville, especially after the iffy apricot chicken meal. He seemed to enjoy watching her eat, quietly confident, as the next dish was served - a braised shoulder of lamb with roasted carrots, mint salsa verde and crunchy snow peas. But the food kept coming - the waiter presented a rhubarb, strawberry, and frangipane tart with vanilla liqueur cream that was simply to die for.

Pansy was definitely starting to feel full now, and when the waiter came out again a few minutes later with another covered dish, Pansy stopped him. 

“I couldn’t possibly eat another bite,” she said apologetically. 

“Are you sure?” Neville asked as the waiter hovered awkwardly. 

“Quite sure,” Pansy declared. 

“How about we see what it is, and then you can decide if you want to try it?” Neville offered, waving to the waiter, who set the dish down in front of Pansy. 

“Neville, I don’t think--” Pansy protested, as Neville left his seat and came around to her chair to lift the lid of the dish himself. 

“Trust me, you won’t want to miss out on this,” he promised, removing the lid to reveal not food, but a stunning pair of red shoes with high crystalline heels and tiny silver and red gemstones decorating the shoes with sweet little hearts. Pansy looked up at Neville, absolutely stunned. The shoes were similar in style to the lucky ones she had broken a few nights previously. 

“How did you-- They’re even my size,” Pansy exclaimed, admiring them. 

“I stole one of your flip-flops the other day,” Neville confessed, returning it to her with a grin. 

Pansy shook her head and smiled, _unbelievable,_ she thought to herself. 

“I can't believe you actually did it,” she murmured, slipping the new shoes on and tapping the pointed toes against the floor. 

“Did what?” Neville said innocently. 

“Surprised me,” Pansy said, her cheeks flushing pink. 

“I’m full of surprises,” Neville said proudly. 

“Really?” Pansy said with a grin. 

“Yep,” Neville said. “Watch,” he instructed, pointing his wand at the candle on the table which morphed into a stunning bouquet of long-stemmed purple roses which Neville presented to her with a mock bow, though he leaped back quickly a moment later, when the flowers started to smoke, flames licking at the flower heads which Pansy promptly dropped.

“Very smooth, Mr Longbottom,” Pansy said with a smirk, watching Neville stamp out his romantic gesture on the floor of the restaurant. 

“I try,” he said, shaking his head, and carrying Pansy’s collection of shoes for her as they left the restaurant and made their way to the apparition point. 

“Thank you for a lovely dinner,” Pansy said gratefully, kissing Neville goodnight and apparating back to her flat with a laugh and an armful of shoes. She was already looking forward to their next date… 


	6. Cedar

Neville surveyed the sky with a frown. The dark clouds were foreboding and indicated a storm was coming. Not the best weather for a walk in the woods. But Pansy had suggested it and Neville was reluctant to refuse, especially because the Slytherin had revealed that it was one of her favourite things to do. Just that tiny detail, that little glimpse into her life, was enough to make the proposed date important to Neville. He was finding that even after half a dozen dates, Pansy was a hard person to get to know. She was witty and charming and beautiful, able to carry a conversation with ease, but Neville had noticed that Pansy tended to talk about work or old school friends or interesting articles she had read in the paper. She was an interesting conversationalist for sure, but at the same time, her stories were impersonal in a way. She shielded her core self, her private life, and her memories very fiercely. Neville was yet to be regaled with a single tale from her childhood, whereas he had openly shared funny or embarrassing stories of his own with ease. Pansy was holding back, and he couldn’t help but feel that it was because she didn’t trust him to guard her secrets and her stories as fiercely as she guarded them herself. 

He would just have to show her she was wrong, he decided. He would guard any secret of hers with the ferocity of a Venomous Tentacula or Devil’s Snare - if she would only give him the chance. But there was no pushing an issue with Pansy. If he pushed or tried to force, cajole, or otherwise pressure her into revealing anything of a personal nature, she would clam up and shut him out, and there would be no coming back from it. No amount of apologising or attempts to make it up to her would make a difference. For all her boldness and outward confidence, Pansy had a fragility about her. Her inner self, her heart which she protected so fiercely was as delicate as the flower for which she was named. If allowed to open up on her own, Neville had no doubt that it would be a beautiful, intimate moment.. But if he tried to force her to open up to him, he would only bruise her heart, and she would likely never open up to anyone again. Pansy projected strength and a certain fearlessness to the world, and she _was_ strong, he had no doubt about that, but she was also vulnerable, and Neville vowed to himself that he would never hurt her. He would be patient and gentle, and when she felt safe with him, when she knew without a doubt that he could be trusted, then she would let him into her heart and her life. Until then, he would wait. She was worth it, that much he was sure of. 

* * *

A gentle sprinkle of rain trickled down through the leaves overhead as Neville followed Pansy deep into the heart of the woods. There was a heady scent in the air - pine and cedar and something else that Neville’s nose couldn’t quite define, but he was starting to wonder if it was Pansy’s perfume or just the scent of her hair - cherry and violet, that’s what he was smelling, he was certain now. 

Pansy danced ahead of him with almost a childlike lightness to her steps, skipping along the path and stopping here or there to examine brightly coloured wildflowers. She had already collected a number of pinecones and interesting leaves. She was a collector; Neville stored that piece of information away for later as they entered a clearing. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noting the faint crease of her brow and the trembling of her bottom lip. 

Pansy pressed her lips together tightly, seeming to be fighting for control of her emotions. 

“They cut them down,” she finally said, her voice barely above a murmur as she approached two stumps where proud cedar trees must once have stood. 

Neville curled a comforting arm around her shoulders, taking it as a good sign when she didn’t pull away, but instead leaned into his touch. Neville pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and stroked her hair. 

“I’m--”

“ _Don’t_ say you’re sorry,” Pansy muttered against his chest. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Neville replied. 

“Liar,” Pansy said automatically. 

“I’m not,” Neville said stubbornly as Pansy raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “I was _going_ to say … I’m cold,” he finished feebly, as Pansy rolled her eyes at him. 

“Nice try,” she said, with a half smile, though a deep sadness lingered in her eyes. This place _meant_ something to her, Neville could tell. He teetered uncertainly on the edge of speaking, wanting to say something, but terrified she would push him away if he said the wrong thing.

“Are you--” Neville hesitated. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” Pansy said quietly. “It’s-- I used to come here all the time with-- The trees were special,” she said finally. Neville held his breath; it was so rare to get such an admission from Pansy that for a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do, though he was absolutely certain that he shouldn’t _say_ anything. Instead, he let go of Pansy and approached the twin stumps, thinking hard. 

“ _Serro,”_ he murmured, repeating the spell three more times, and moving his wand in a saw-like motion. He returned to Pansy with four, two-inch thick cedar boards. “Come on,” he said, offering her his hand. 

“What are those for?” Pansy asked, eyeing the cedar boards. 

“I’ll show you,” Neville promised. 

Pansy still looked uncertain, but she took his hand. 

* * *

“How’s it coming over there?” Neville asked curiously, glancing over to see Pansy’s progress. 

They were sitting in Pansy’s art studio, sharing a paint palette between them. Neville was almost finished painting his two boards. On one, he had painted a cedar tree, its branches covered in autumn leaves, and at its base, wildflowers of bright colours in bloom. On the second board, he had painted the branches and roots of the tree in silver, arching in a circle, so that branches and roots were entwined in unbroken connection, never ending. At the heart of it all was a night sky, complete with crescent moon and tiny stars. As artists went, he wasn’t bad, having completed many drawings for Herbology journals. This was more personal, however. He stood and looked over Pansy’s shoulder at her creations, stunned. He was a good artist, sure. But Pansy was _magnificently talented,_ Neville now realised. She was wasted on that crappy Ministry department, judging from these paintings alone. 

On the first cedar board, a small girl of five or six was depicted, crouching to pick wildflowers in a grassy clearing with twin cedar trees to one side. The girl’s long honey-blonde curls were wind tossed and wild, her dress streaked with dirt. The second picture was much the same, except the same little girl was sitting against one of the cedar trees, weaving a daisy chain with her tiny fingers, while an older girl looked on, a book in her lap, and a ring of daisies in her short, dark hair. The older girl was Pansy, Neville realised, turning to her, a question on his lips that she answered before he could get the words out of his mouth. 

“It’s my little sister. She died,” Pansy said with a sad smile that just about split Neville’s heart in two. 

“What was her name?” Neville asked, hardly able to breathe for fear that Pansy, who was at her most raw and vulnerable now, would slam the door shut on him any second. 

“Poppy,” Pansy said, tears forming in her eyes. She allowed Neville to hold her then; he asked no more questions, just held on for dear life, as Pansy, who always seemed so strong and unbreakable, shook with grief, silent tears coursing down her cheeks, as she allowed him to see the broken pieces of her heart, let him see the sharpness and the raw depths of her pain and loss, and didn’t push him away or shut him out. 


	7. Chandelier

It had been several days since Pansy had revealed the deep sense of grief she felt over her little sister’s death. A little sister Neville hadn’t known she had. But then, they had run in different friendship circles at Hogwarts. It stood to reason that Pansy wouldn’t have known much about Neville’s family at the time either. The attacks on his parents during the first wizarding war had been well publicised of course, and most students at Hogwarts knew that he lived with his grandmother, but still he couldn’t understand how he had assumed Pansy was an only child. He had thought many of the students he went to school with were the only child in their respective families, aside from obvious exceptions like the Weasley clan. He had now begun to wonder how much he knew about any of his friend’s families. Just because they didn’t have siblings at Hogwarts didn’t mean there weren’t any. 

And what of the casualties during the war? Potterwatch had reported some deaths of course. And the deaths of the Hogwarts Fifty at the battle were so widely publicised that each of the fallen were practically legends in their own right. Yet somehow, amidst that communal sense of shared grief and loss, others whose losses were no less valid and deeply felt were neglected by the wizarding community. There was that word again - _community._ Weren’t the Parkinson’s a part of that community? Neville wondered if their loss was ignored because they were _Slytherins._ Old prejudices died hard after all… He wondered what other losses had gone unnoticed. Whose loved ones deaths continued to go ignored? And why wasn’t anyone doing anything about it? He was distracted for the entire afternoon, that particular thought niggling at him, that little whisper of doubt that told him all Slytherins were not the same as Bellatrix Lestrange or Lord Voldemort. Had he misjudged them? Or worse, mistreated them? True, Draco Malfoy and his cronies had bullied him at school, but that wasn’t sufficient justification to leave people to be tortured or abused when the wizarding world was in a state of open war.

He had spent so much of his seventh year protecting Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs from the cruel torture of the Carrows and had never spared a thought for the students of Slytherin house, having assumed they possessed some blanket immunity by virtue of being in the same house as Voldemort. But what if they hadn’t? Some, like Crabbe and Goyle, he knew for a certainty had gleefully assisted the Carrows in their bullying and torture, but the others, _Oh Merlin,_ what if there were others who had been innocent or worse, abused by the Carrows and their lot, and he’d left them to their fate… Here he was, Neville Longbottom, touted as one of the great heroes and leaders of the battle, of Hogwarts School itself, and he had been just as prejudiced as anyone else… The thought was torture, and he determined to do something to help the _entire_ wizarding community, not just those who had been on the right side of the war. But it would be some time before those plans came to fruition... 

* * *

“Neville, what’s this?” Pansy asked, glancing over the drawings that littered the coffee table in Neville’s flat. She thought one might be of a chandelier, but she couldn’t be sure. And what would Neville want with a chandelier, anyway? It would look utterly ridiculous and out of place in Neville’s small flat. 

“Oh, I meant to clean that up before you came,” Neville called back from the kitchen where he was fixing the tea. He was pretty sure he could manage to boil water without poisoning Pansy again. 

“You didn’t answer the question,” Pansy said, trying for an Augusta Longbottom-like sternness that almost made Neville laugh. He wouldn’t dare tell Pansy that he found it adorable when she was mad though; she’d probably think of some uniquely Slytherin way to punish him for showing such cheek. 

“Here’s your tea. Careful, it’s hot,” Neville said, clearing a space on the coffee table for their cups. 

“You have until the count of three,” Pansy said warningly, gesturing to the mess of papers. 

“Or what?” Neville said with a grin. 

“Do you really want to find out?” Pansy said dangerously. 

“Let’s see,” Neville replied, sensing he was pushing his luck but also fully aware that he was enjoying himself far too much to back down now. 

“One,” Pansy said, as Neville sat down on the sofa as though he hadn’t a care in the world. 

“Two,” she said, as Neville yawned for effect and stretched his arms over his head. 

“Two and a _half,_ ” Pansy said, now drawing her wand. A flicker of doubt flashed across Neville’s face, but he merely kicked his feet up onto the edge of the coffee table. 

“Three!” Pansy exclaimed, starting forward with a gleam in her eyes. 

Neville ran. 

Pansy gave chase, tackling him in the doorway, her wand poking him painfully in the ribs. 

“Alright, alright,” Neville said with a grin, extracting her wand from his ribs and directing it at the coffee table. “ _Evanesco,”_ he muttered, intending to vanish the papers, but with Pansy’s warm breath against his throat, he was distracted just enough for his aim to be off slightly, vanishing the entire coffee table instead. 

“Whoops,” Neville muttered, shaking with laughter and trying not to think what Gran would say. That coffee table had been in the family for six generations. 

“That doesn’t get you off the hook,” Pansy said, elbowing him in the ribs. “You’ve seen my art. Why won’t you let me see yours?” 

“That’s not art,” Neville protested. “They’re designs.” 

“Designs for what?” Pansy asked curiously. 

“I’ll show you,” Neville offered, rising to his feet and offering Pansy a hand up. 

He led her to the small greenhouse hidden on the rooftop of his flat. The interior of the greenhouse had been magically enlarged with Hermione’s help, and Uncle Algie had helped him set up long trestle tables so he could tend to his plant’s individual needs. But the plants weren’t what he wanted to show Pansy. 

“ _Lumos,”_ Neville said, directing his wand to the roof of the greenhouse, where long vines were entwined over metal wire, almost like a bizarre plant chandelier. At Neville’s muttered incantation, red and yellow flowers on the vines opened and released little hovering spores of blue light that floated above their heads. 

“It’s beautiful,” Pansy murmured, gazing at the dancing, flickering lights with something akin to wonder. 

“Oh, I’m not done,” Neville said proudly. “ _Melus Melumo,”_ he said, waving his wand over individual pots of Scarlet Bugler, Desert Trumpet, Fiddlehead Fern, Bellflower, Triangle Palm, and Fluted Horn Mallee. A six-piece plant orchestra began to play, as Pansy gazed at Neville, utterly lost for words. It was the most beautiful melody she had ever heard. 

“Neville--” 

“I think they’re playing our song,” Neville said softly. “May I have this dance, Miss Parkinson?”

Pansy couldn’t seem to find a single word to say, merely nodding and allowing Neville to draw her close, his hand on her waist as they swayed gently together under the light of a coral vine chandelier, to the tune of the world’s first orchid-stra.


	8. Dishes Best Served Cold

Neville skimmed over the note Pansy’s owl had left for him, inviting him to her flat for dinner this coming Thursday. The note stated it would be a _quiet night in,_ and Neville frowned at that. Quiet night in? What did that even mean? Why witches couldn’t ever just say exactly what they wanted to do… A little advance notice and a full explanation here or there wouldn’t go amiss was all, Neville thought to himself. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. He and Pansy had been dating for almost three months now and he still doubted whether he was enough for her. He was being silly, of course, he knew that. But underneath the snake slayer fame and leadership qualities he had found in the midst of war, deep down, he was still that shy, clumsy boy who wasn’t good enough, brave enough, or magic enough to be in Gryffindor. 

He knew the types of wizards Pansy had once been interested in - Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey… All of them came from old money and had ascended to their father’s high ranking Ministry positions. Their names carried prestige; they were men of great importance who could offer Pansy status, a comfortable life and every luxury and indulgence money could buy. She could be Lady This or Duchess That if she so pleased. But she didn’t please, and wasn’t that a curious thing? 

Neville knew Pansy had left Hogwarts with unwanted infamy, and he supposed that was the reason her considerable talents were hidden away within the boring walls of the Floo Network Authority. Instead of taking her pick of wizards that came with money, status and power (all things Pansy had once seemed to prize), she spent her evenings with _him._ The Longbottoms had old family money for certain, but there was no lofty status to be had. Neville had been given fifteen seconds of fame as the slayer of Voldemort’s prized pet Nagini, and then returned to his quiet life. These days, he was a magical plant supplier for Mr Mulpepper, who owned an apothecary in Diagon Alley. He was basically a glorified gardener or a farmer; he laughed at that image, startling Pansy’s owl, and picturing himself with a big straw hat and some overalls, bouncing through a field of barley on the back of a Muggle tractor - _ridiculous._ He _was_ being ridiculous, he knew that much. 

_Can’t wait. Hope you have a good week. See you Thursday night. Would you like me to bring anything?_ he scribbled on a fresh sheet of parchment, folding it tightly and giving it to the owl to clamp in its beak. The sweet, tawny creature taking off through the open window without further ado, to carry his reply to Pansy. 

* * *

  
  


“Hi,” Pansy said, greeting Neville at the door of her flat on Thursday night. Her cheeks were flushed and she wore an apron over her clothes; an apron that talked, cooing “kiss the cook” every time Neville got within arm’s reach of Pansy. 

“Revolting thing, Theo’s idea of a housewarming gift,” Pansy said with a roll of her eyes. “But since I’m cooking, I didn’t want to mess up my clothes,” she shrugged. “Open the wine if you would, please, my hands are a little messy.” 

“You’re cooking?” Neville asked in disbelief. 

“What? I cook. I need a proper meal from time to time,” Pansy said, disappearing into the kitchen. “You can’t live on cereal and ramen noodles,” she declared, and Neville grinned guiltily, knowing that was _exactly_ what his diet consisted of, supplemented with the occasional takeout. Gran would scold him if she knew. 

“So, what’s for dinner?” Neville asked, helping himself to wine glasses he found in a cabinet.

Pansy gave him a wicked grin. “Apricot Chicken,” she announced, and Neville groaned. She was punishing him, he was sure of it. 

She already had a large bowl of rice cooked and Neville sneaked a few grains when she wasn’t looking. Her rice was light and fluffy and more importantly, not burnt as his had been. A light dusting of flour settled over the front of Pansy’s apron as she rolled slices of chicken in flour and seasoning, placing them neatly in a baking tray. She moved on to the apricot sauce, pouring two packets of French Onion soup mix into a jug of apricot nectar, which she stirred and then poured over the chicken, sliding the entire tray into the oven. Neville gaped at her. 

“It should be ready in about forty minutes,” Pansy declared confidently, setting the oven timer. 

“But Auntie Enid’s recipe says to cook it on the stove,” Neville said confusedly. 

“Well, this isn’t Auntie Enid’s recipe. It’s _mine,”_ Pansy said with a grin, stealing a kiss and a glass of wine from Neville. “So while we’re waiting, I’ll wash, you dry?” Pansy offered, starting the water running in the sink and squirting a dash of dish soap into the hot water. 

“Sure,” Neville agreed, picking up a tea towel. 

They washed and dried in companionable silence, Pansy humming a tune to a song Neville couldn’t quite remember until the dishes were done and the delicious smell of Apricot Chicken was filling the room. 

In no time at all, Pansy was serving it up while Neville set the table and watched her fondly. There was no doubt that this wasn’t the Pansy everyone assumed existed - the spoiled, bratty Slytherin princess with no morals and no regard for anyone else. This Pansy was sweet and kind and thoughtful and everything Neville could ever have wanted. And to top it all, her Apricot Chicken was even better than Auntie Enid’s… no way Neville was telling his aunt that _ever,_ but he did tell Pansy and watched her blush crimson under his praise. 

They sat quietly together after dinner, the wine making Neville feel sleepy and warm as he watched Pansy drawing on a sketchpad. 

“You’re staring,” she muttered, looking over her shoulder. 

“Am I?” Neville said absently, reaching for a bowl of orange and purple sweets that lay on the coffee table. Neville popped an orange sweet in his mouth, but the minute it touched his lips, an overpowering nausea filled him and he bolted for the bathroom, vomiting violently into the toilet. 

“Are you okay?” Pansy called through the door. 

“Fine,” Neville called back, but then a second wave of nausea flooded him and he vomited again. 

“You don’t sound fine,” Pansy declared, insisting on making a trip to St Mungo’s. Neville couldn’t understand it. That had been the best Apricot Chicken of his life. The Healers too were baffled, their diagnostic spells unable to pinpoint the cause. 

“Maybe it was the wine,” Neville suggested, feeling the nausea grip him again. 

“Or _maybe_ it was something else,” Pansy said mischievously. 

“What are you-- no…” Neville exclaimed. “You didn’t?”

“I did,” Pansy said, shaking with laughter. 

“Puking Pastilles? Seriously?” Neville groaned, as Pansy handed him the purple end of the colour-coded sweet, Neville’s nausea vanishing instantly. 

He shook his head in utter disbelief - _Slytherins._

“What?” Pansy said. “You poisoned me!”

“That was two months ago!” Neville exclaimed. 

“Well, you know what they say… Revenge is a _dish_ best served cold,” Pansy grinned. 

“I thought you’d gotten over it,” Neville said in utter disbelief. 

“Slytherins never get over things. We only get _around_ things,” Pansy said with a laugh. 

“Evil,” Neville muttered. 

“ _Even,”_ Pansy corrected him. 

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’m going to get you back for this,” Neville promised with a smirk. “Just remember _you started it_ ,” he declared, hexing her with a sneaky tickling charm that made Pansy laugh so hard she could hardly breathe. 

What followed was a merciless prank war that lasted for weeks, neither willing to concede, although Neville would admit that the laughter following each practical joke was well worth the hilarious consequences in the meantime, the most severe of which was that his ribs ached from laughing fit to burst. 


	9. Flying with Fear

“No,” Neville stated firmly, standing his ground. He wanted to make Pansy happy, he really did, but this was absolutely out of the question. 

“What do you mean _no_?” Pansy said, sounding a little offended. 

“I mean, it’s not happening. Not today. Not ever. Not even if someone held a wand to my head,” Neville declared stubbornly. 

“In what scenario do you imagine someone holding a wand to your head and saying ‘hey, you, fly this broom or I’ll curse you?’” Pansy said with a smirk. 

“I spent six years of my life sharing a dormitory with Harry Potter - stranger things have happened!” Neville exclaimed. “If it’s not three headed dogs, it’s giant snakes that can kill you by looking at you, or flying Thestrals to London to save a convicted criminal… Just _no._ ” 

“So you _have_ flown before,” Pansy said triumphantly. 

“Twice,” Neville said stiffly. 

“And?” Pansy said expectantly. 

“ _And_ I have no interest in doing it ever again,” Neville said. 

“Oh, come on,” Pansy pleaded. “When even was the last time you flew a broom?” 

“First year, 12th of September, 1991, 3:47pm. Worst forty-six point eight seconds of my life,” Neville complained. 

“Seriously?” Pansy exclaimed. “And you never tried it again?”

“I broke my wrist!” Neville exclaimed, rubbing his wrist sulkily as though the mere memory of it made it ache. 

“And?” Pansy said incredulously. 

“And my gran forbade me from ever touching a broom again!” Neville exclaimed dramatically. “She stopped my allowance for a week when I told her I’d held Harry’s Firebolt in third year!” 

“That’s tragic, _really,”_ Pansy said drily. “It’s a wonder the Aurors weren’t called to investigate such a dreadful abuse of power.” 

“Mock me all you like,” Neville said stubbornly. “I’m not getting on that broom and that’s _final._ In fact, the only thing I’ll be flying in the near future is a _kite!_ ” he declared, retreating to a safe distance, lest his mere proximity to a broom inspire Gran to seek some form of punishment for such flagrant disobedience, even all these years later. 

* * *

  
  


Pansy wasn’t one to give up, but pressed on undeterred in the week that followed, trying to think of a way to encourage Neville to move past his fear of flying. She could hardly stand the thought that Neville had carried this fear with him from the age of eleven, perhaps even from a younger age, considering how strict and cautious Augusta had been with Neville. It was understandable that Neville’s gran was afraid of something happening to her grandson, particularly after what had befallen Neville’s parents. But living in constant fear and dread wasn’t a way to raise a child, it was a way to cripple a child’s self esteem. Pansy well-remembered Neville in first year - timid, shy, lacking confidence and plagued with doubt in his own abilities. Neville had grown so much since then, and Pansy didn’t doubt that Augusta had done the best she could in the midst of her own sense of grief over Frank and Alice’s permanent mental incapacitation, but Neville was grown up now. The time for fear and overcautiousness was past and she wanted Neville to be free of any doubt in himself or his abilities. 

Suddenly she knew what she had to do. The only way to get Neville to be brave enough to overcome his own fear was to face her own… 

* * *

“What are you up to?” Neville said suspiciously, eyeing the large plastic box that was sitting on the coffee table in Pansy’s flat. The last time Pansy had set up an impromptu date had resulted in him swallowing a Puking Pastille and possibly ruining his beloved Apricot Chicken for life. 

“Nothing,” Pansy said innocently, trying to inject a little more confidence into her voice than she actually felt. 

“This better not have anything to do with the flying thing again,” Neville grumbled. He was uncharacteristically grumpy today, largely due to the fact that his Mimbulus Mimbletonia had taken to making odd noises at early hours. If it wasn’t the most interesting combination of pet and plant he’d ever had, he would be very tempted to move it into the greenhouse on the roof. 

“It doesn’t,” Pansy protested. “Well, it’s not just that.”

“Pansy,” Neville groaned. “I thought I was clear about this. I am never--”

“Flying again. Yes, yes, I know,” Pansy said impatiently. “Just, let me explain and if you still don’t want to,” she sighed. “I won’t bring it up anymore.”

“Promise?” Neville said sternly. 

“Promise,” Pansy agreed. 

“Fine, explain,” Neville said, resigned to the fact that Pansy wouldn’t let it rest until he let her try to help him. He shouldn’t resent her for caring about him, but it felt a lot like meddling and a lot less like the empathy he had hoped for. 

“You’re afraid,” Pansy said bluntly. “You’re afraid of what _could_ happen or _might_ go wrong. You’re scared of something that hasn’t even happened yet, that might never happen. Just the possibility of getting hurt in the future is what keeps your feet on the ground.” 

Neville opened his mouth to protest and Pansy continued, lest he interrupt and make her lose her nerve. 

“I’m afraid too,” she said softly, the admission costing her more than she would ever admit. “I’m afraid of the _past._ It has a way of coming back to bite me in the arse,” she said grimly. “So I thought it was hardly fair to ask you to face your fear,” her voice shook for a minute and she let out a shaky breath before she continued, “if I didn’t face _mine_.” 

“Pansy--” Neville said worriedly. 

“Stand back,” she said nervously, waving Neville away from the plastic box which rocked ominously from side to side at her approach. 

“You don’t have to,” Neville said quietly. 

“Yes, I do,” Pansy said through gritted teeth. “I can’t ask you to do something that I wouldn’t do myself. I’m not a bloody hypocrite. _Alohomora,”_ she muttered, unlocking the box. 

A shadow soared out of the box, landing on all fours in front of Pansy. It was a werewolf, blood dripping from its yellowed teeth, the throat of a small victim gripped in his jaws. His hackles were raised, and a threatening growl rumbled from deep in his throat as he advanced on Pansy, who paled and looked as though she was about to faint, her hand shaking as she kept her wand trained on the beast, wincing as the wolf shook his victim from side to side like a ragdoll. Neville’s eyes darted to the limp blonde curls and lifeless eyes of the person the werewolf held, a deep horror overwhelming him for a moment - the victim was Poppy Parkinson, he realised, bile rising in his throat. 

“ _Riddikulus,”_ Pansy said determinedly, and the wolf shrank to the size of a puppy, a big purple bow around his neck, as Poppy’s lifeless form vanished. Neville used his wand to force the boggart back into the box and locked it, turning in time to watch Pansy collapse, shaking, into a chair. 

“Pansy,” Neville said, lost for words. “You didn’t have to put yourself through that. Not for me.” 

“Yes, I did,” Pansy said stubbornly, although her eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip trembled. “I needed to prove-- I need you to trust me,” she said pleadingly. 

Neville swallowed the painful lump that rose in his throat with some difficulty, his own eyes burning. 

“I trust you, Pansy,” he said quietly. 

“Do you trust me enough to let me teach you to fly? Safely?” Pansy asked.

Neville hesitated, battling with his old insecurities for a moment. 

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But if Gran finds out…”

“I’ll tell her I Imperiused you,” Pansy promised with a small smile. 

“It’s a date then,” Neville agreed. 

* * *

The following Saturday afternoon, Neville took to the skies on a broomstick for the first time since his first year at Hogwarts. The first forty-six point eight seconds were terrifying, as he watched the ground fall away beneath them. He locked his arms tightly around Pansy’s waist, certain that he would fall… but then an amazing thing happened - he didn’t fall. There was no plummeting to his death, no screams of terror - there was just Pansy and the smell of her hair as he hid his face in her shoulder, it being too late now to remind himself not to look down. But gradually, he found he was enjoying the weightless, swooping feeling in his stomach and a slow smile spread across his face. He even let out a laugh of pure joy as they drew level with the top of a pine tree. All that time wasted on fear, Neville thought, scolding himself internally. What was it that Auntie Enid had said when Neville had worried that he didn’t feel courageous or brave enough to be a Gryffindor? _Courage is not the absence of fear, but the assessment that something else is more important than fear…_ Wrapping his arms around Pansy and breathing in the scent that was uniquely her, he realised he’d found his something else. The one person that was more important to him than clinging to his fear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Courage is not the absence of fear, but the assessment that something else is more important than fear."  
> ~ Franklin D Roosevelt, 32nd President of the United States of America.


	10. A Moon Made of Dreams

Pansy shivered in the cool night air, hugging her cloak more tightly around herself and rubbing her arms. 

“If you’re cold, you can go back inside,” Neville murmured from nearby. His voice was muffled due to the fact that he was currently buried in a clump of fluxweed that had evidently flourished in his rooftop garden.

“And leave you up here on your own?” Pansy scoffed. 

“I’ll be fine,” Neville shrugged. 

“Neville, don’t take this the wrong way, but frankly it's a wonder you’ve survived this long. Your sense of self-preservation is terrible,” Pansy commented. 

“So you’re my bodyguard now?” Neville grinned. 

“Something like that,” Pansy shrugged. “Probably more interesting than my current job.” 

“Why do you stay if you hate it then?” Neville asked distractedly, clipping at the fluxweed with precision. 

“Because I like having a roof over my head and being able to afford pretty things,” Pansy with a smirk. 

“I could buy you pretty things,” Neville muttered with a sulky little pout. 

Pansy froze for a moment, the fun banter between them stilling in the night air. _Please, Merlin, let's not talk about feelings,_ she thought with a rising sense of dread. Neville had seen too deep into her private thoughts and secrets lately. Some ingrained instinct was begging her to put the walls back up and hide behind them for her own safety, but a part of her also liked not holding someone in her life at arm’s length for once. Neville was the exception to the usual rule. Everyone else could fuck off. 

“You couldn’t afford me,” she managed after a moment. 

“Could too,” Neville argued, still carefully clipping and collecting fluxweed which he would deliver to his apothecary contact on the morrow. 

“It’s cute that you think so,” Pansy said, petting the top of his head. 

Neville laughed, dropping his shears and seizing Pansy’s arm, tugging her down into the tangle of fluxweed with him. He looked down into her face for a moment, enjoying the sight of the moon and stars overhead reflected in the sparkling depths of her dark eyes. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, blushing when he realised the word had slipped out without conscious thought.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Pansy grinned. 

Neville snorted with derision. “Sure, girls are lining up to date a gardener slash apothecary supplier. That’s a career.”

“Why do you stay if you hate it then?” Pansy said teasingly, repeating Neville’s earlier words back to him. 

“Because I don’t hate it, not really,” Neville said with a soft smile. “Can you picture me working at the Ministry?” 

Pansy paused, seeming to give that some thought. 

“Picture you at the Ministry doing what?” she asked. 

“Exactly!” Neville exclaimed with a laugh. 

“Why didn’t you go into the Ministry?” Pansy asked curiously. “All your friends did.” 

“Not all of them,” Neville protested. 

“Potter, Granger and Weasley did,” Pansy pointed out. 

“That’s different,” Neville said with a shrug. “Harry isn’t going to stay with the Auror Office forever. He only agreed to it because Kingsley said it would help inspire confidence within the community if _Harry Potter_ was rounding up Death Eaters and dark creatures. It would seem more like justice if he was leading it than it would if it was the Ministry alone. People didn’t trust the Ministry after the war because it was so corrupt, and it’s dangerous for people not to have confidence in their own government leaders. Harry will end up doing something else. He’s already talking about maybe going into teaching. He’s got his eye on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, I can tell.” 

“Can you?” Pansy said with an amused smile. “What about the others?” 

“Hermione loves her job and she’s making a difference. You know the cases brought before the Wizengamot get reported on and recorded in the Ministry archives, right? She’s literally writing the book on justice,” Neville said proudly. “I can’t see her leaving that job and to be honest it suits her. It’s good for the old pureblood families on the Wizengamot to be called out on generations of crap. She loves going head to head with Lucius Malfoy,” he laughed. “And Ron… I honestly don’t know what he’ll do. He went into the Aurors to follow Harry. I don’t think he even likes the job much. It’s just _comfortable_. When Harry leaves, he might do something else. Coach Quidditch or something. Although he was talking about doing a comic book with Dean based on Harry’s cousin. It’ll be like Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle but with anti-bullying undertones.”

“Oh I really hope he writes that,” Pansy declared with a little giggle. 

“What about you though?” Neville asked.

“What about me what?” Pansy said with a teasing grin. 

“What do you really want to do?” Neville asked, watching her closely. He almost seemed to think she was going to brush off his question.

Pansy paused for a moment, considering whether to trust him with yet another secret. 

“Who says I don’t already have my dream job?” she said half-heartedly. 

“Pansy,” Neville said doubtfully. 

She sighed in response. It was a hard thing for her to tell someone, and if he was too enthusiastic about it, she wasn’t sure if she would be annoyed or cry. One of the two, possibly a combination of both. 

“I wanted to do Healing,” she admitted after a moment. 

“Why didn’t you?” Neville said, sounding surprised. 

“Because I would have had to go back to Hogwarts to sit my N.E.W.T’s and I was worried--” she swallowed hard. “I was worried people would say things to me about what I did before the battle. Trying to hand Potter over,” she added when Neville looked confused. “I know I would deserve it, but I just was worried I wouldn’t cope with it, so I took the job with the Floo Network,” she finished. 

“You wouldn’t deserve it,” Neville said after a moment’s pause. “Nobody ever deserves to be targeted by bullies,” he said firmly, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to do something with your art," he commented. 

“Art is so personal,” Pansy said, shaking her head doubtfully. “And there are so many harsh critics…” her voice trailed off. “Can I tell you something?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Of course,” Neville said immediately. 

“I did want to do something with my art,” Pansy admitted shyly. “I would have, if I had my father’s resources. I would open a gallery and paint scenes from the war or of people that-- were _lost,”_ she added resolutely. “And I’d put every knut of the profits into funding research on werewolf bites. So many victims don’t survive, Neville. I think sometimes because wizards don’t want them to. They want them to die human, rather than live as a monster,” she said with a shudder, her eyes flickering up to the full moon. 

Neville gave her words careful thought as they bundled up the fluxweed and went back down to the flat for a hot cup of cocoa. Pansy really wasn’t the cold-hearted ice queen everyone thought she was. At her heart, she was a humanitarian. She saw a need in the community to raise the profile of a marginalised group like werewolves and she hated that she couldn’t do more. She took a dead-end job because she thought she didn’t deserve to do what she loved… If it was the last thing Neville did, he would see her gallery opened and her dreams realised, even if he had to petition Professor McGonagall personally for Pansy to be given the opportunity to complete the seventh year coursework by owl correspondence. There was no reason she should have to go to Hogwarts in person, he was certain she could take her N.E.W.T’s at a Ministry testing centre. In fact, Griselda Marchbanks was one of the Ministry examiners and a friend of his gran’s. Pansy didn’t need her father’s resources or strings attached to achieve everything she wanted, not when Neville genuinely wanted to help her. The Longbottom's had resources and connections too. There was no reason they couldn't be used to do some good for the community, or for one person who was rapidly securing a place in Neville's heart. She deserved all her dreams and so much more…


	11. A Happy Harvest

“Have you _ever_ gardened before?” Neville said, biting back a grin as Pansy bemoaned the dirt that had gotten under her newly manicured nails. 

Pansy huffed a sigh and waved a persistent fly away from her face, adjusting her hat before turning back to the patch of overgrown plants that Neville had been cultivating for months. Pansy was helping him harvest a few ingredients for a special jam that Neville had perfected as a teenager. 

“Yes,” she said stubbornly. 

“Herbology doesn’t count,” Neville said with a smug grin. 

“What? Yes it does! It counts!” Pansy said petulantly. “There were plants and dirt! It counts!”

“Okay then,” Neville conceded. “Have you ever gardened by yourself? You haven’t, have you?” he added when she didn’t immediately answer.

“I have,” Pansy said slowly. “I had a pot plant once.”

“And?” Neville said, smirking as he picked cayenne chillies from the rooftop garden and placed them in a small pail. 

“I only got it so I could paint a picture of it,” Pansy shrugged, straining as she uprooted a large clump of garlic. 

“Uh-huh, _and?_ ” Neville said unrelentingly. 

“And it died after two days,” Pansy admitted, wrinkling her nose at him. 

“What did you water it with, acid?” Neville asked, stifling a laugh. 

“Oh, you’re supposed to water them…” Pansy said sarcastically, plucking three large bell peppers from a nearby bush and placing them gently in her pail. 

“Maybe it was sick when you bought it,” Neville suggested, hiding his grin behind the chilli plant. 

“No, I tried that with the store owner. He wouldn’t give me a refund,” Pansy said as Neville laughed. “Is this enough?” Pansy asked, presenting the garlic she had uprooted. 

“Plenty,” Neville replied. “Not bad for a first time gardener,” he added with a wink. 

Pansy flushed crimson under his praise, but did not otherwise respond to the compliment. 

“Do we need anything else?” she asked, sweeping an arm over the small garden plot they had spent the afternoon harvesting fresh vegetables and herbs from. 

“Just a couple of red onions,” Neville said, uprooting them with ease and adding them to Pansy’s pail.

“I can carry it,” Pansy said a little defensively, hugging the pail to her chest when Neville offered his hand. 

“I know,” he said with a grin, placing a large strawberry in her protesting mouth instead. “Much better,” he laughed as Pansy glared, but munched her strawberry, the sticky juice tracing a pink line down her chin as Neville led the way indoors. It was time to wash up and then the cooking could begin!

* * *

  
  


In no time at all, Neville had a good quantity of cayenne chillies washed and chopped lengthways, and he began setting to work scraping the seeds out, which he explained held the most heat. The seeds would need to be added to the mixture in batches to ensure the chilli jam they were making had a nice zing to it, but not an overpowering heat. 

Meanwhile, Pansy was busy chopping bell peppers and red onion, to which she added two crushed cloves of garlic, the sharp aroma making her mouth water as she added the vegetables to the saucepan along with Neville’s chillies. 

“Perfect,” Neville said happily, adding a fair amount of sugar to the mix, along with some vinegar, lemon juice and a tiny dash of fish sauce (which he claimed was his secret ingredient). 

“Now we _bring it to the boil,_ ” Pansy said, skimming Neville’s notes. 

“Here, taste it,” Neville said, passing Pansy a teaspoon to test the mixture. 

“Needs more heat,” Pansy commented as Neville nodded and added a few spoonfuls of the chilli seeds he had collected to the mixture. 

“Better?” he asked as Pansy tasted it and considered her response, licking her lips. “We can add more onion or another bell pepper if it's too hot,” Neville added. 

“More heat,” Pansy said with a shrug, spooning more chilli seeds into the mix. “Perfect,” she said happily. 

“It has to boil a bit longer,” Neville said, resisting the urge to taste it again. 

“How about a cup of tea while we wait then?” Pansy offered, and Neville nodded in agreement. The time passed quickly away, and in no time at all, the chilli jam was ready to be poured into hot jars that had been sterilised in Neville’s oven. 

“Looks good,” Neville said happily, as he screwed lids onto the jars. 

“Smells good,” Pansy said longingly, wishing they didn’t have to wait for the jam to cool and set overnight. She was certain she could eat an entire jar by herself at this point. 

“Happy Harvest Day,” Neville said, proud of their efforts as Pansy toasted him with her cup of tea. 

“And may we have many more,” she said with a grin, snuggling close to his side as they looked over the line of full jars. It had been a tiring, but worthwhile day, and they were very happy with what they had achieved together by the end of it. Little did they know, storm clouds were already gathering on their horizon…


	12. Home is Where the Heart is

It had been a slow day as far as Tuesdays went, but Neville didn’t mind that as much as most wizards would. True, he had looked at the clock more frequently that was normal for him, but that was only because he was looking forward to seeing Pansy. She should be getting off work soon, and then they would take a stroll through the park together, before ordering takeout for dinner. Quiet, peaceful evenings were underrated in Neville’s opinion. He had spent the day cataloguing all the plants in his greenhouse for Mr Mulpepper, whose apothecary Neville supplied fresh potion ingredients to every second Thursday. Having a list of all the available plants would allow Mr Mulpepper to see what was on offer and capitalise on the existing stock, and also commission special orders of rarer plants which Neville would grow, for a price, of course. He wasn’t by anyone’s standards a shrewd businessman, but he was a fair one. 

The repetition of writing names and quantities of all his plants was, however, tedious and dull, and Neville quickly found himself wishing for a distraction. He flicked his wand, turning on the Wizarding Wireless, which would at least provide some background noise that wasn’t the repeated sighs that escaped his lips as he studied his columns of figures. The local news was playing and Neville tapped his pencil impatiently, waiting for some actual music. 

“ _...and the Wizarding Fire Service is currently working to get a blaze under control at a block of flats on Richmond Road. A spokesperson for the WFS made a statement a moment ago, stating that there was a danger of the fire spreading to nearby Muggle areas in Morris Park, however, there have been no reports of death or injury yet. We will keep you all updated as more details become available--”_

Neville dropped his wand, cutting the news presenter off mid-sentence. _Richmond Road, near Morris Park._ That was where Pansy lived. _No, please, Merlin, no,_ Neville’s mind screamed as he fought the panic that threatened to overtake him. Snatching up his wand, he ran outside, disapparating with a whirl of his cloak. 

* * *

  
  


Plumes of black smoke darkened the sky around the block of flats, orange flames leaping from the windows and licking at the roof. Neville felt his heart plummet all the way down to his toes as he watching the wizarding firefighters using extinguishing spells on the blaze. He took off running, stopping a passing fireman who was guzzling water as if he would die of thirst. 

“Is she-- is everyone out?” Neville demanded, wide-eyed and panicked. 

“Nobody was home,” the fireman said, shrugging Neville off. 

_Nobody home… Pansy is safe… Pansy…_ “Pansy!” Neville cried, spotting her as she apparated a few yards away, then spotted her flat shrouded in flames and smoke with a cry. She started forward and Neville seized her around the middle, holding her fast. 

“Don’t,” he begged, as she shook with sobs. “It’s too late.” 

“No, I have to get them!” Pansy said, fighting him off and sprinting through the crowd of firefighters and onlookers, into the building. 

“ _Fuck!!”_ Neville exclaimed, putting every emotion he felt into the single filthy word, and damn, if it didn’t feel good, Gran didn’t know what she was missing. 

He took off after Pansy, shoving a firefighter aside when the wizard tried to stop him. Coughing, the smoke burning in his throat and lungs, his eyes watering and hardly able to see, Neville plunged recklessly through the thick smoke, heedless of the crackling flames that roared around him. 

“Pansy! Pansy!” he yelled desperately, the thick smoke choking his every breath. 

Then he saw her, darting into her flat where she started trying to wrestle a painting from the living room wall. 

“Are you mad? We have to go!” Neville declared. Pansy’s hands were already reddened with small burns. 

“I can’t! I can’t just leave it behind to be burned up!” Pansy cried hysterically. 

There was a cracking sound like thunder from overhead and Neville dove instinctively, shoving Pansy under the coffee table as plaster and debris rained down from overhead, the sudden rush of air sending flames racing along the wall, Pansy’s treasured painting going up in flames. Neville half-dragged her out of the flat. Upon clearing the building, they were quickly seized by Healers who immediately assessed and treated them for small burns and smoke inhalation, administering spells, pastes and potions.

Neville never took his eyes from Pansy who watched her home and the life she had built for herself literally burn to the ground with tears in her eyes. Neville thought long and hard about the painting as the Healers transported them to St Mungo’s for further treatment, tests and overnight observation. He remembered the initials he had seen in the corner of the painting weeks ago - _P. P._ He had assumed at the time that the initials stood for Pansy Parkinson. But her hysteria and desperation to save a painting she had made didn’t make sense to him, _unless…_ Unless P.P. didn’t stand for Pansy, but rather _Poppy Parkinson._ The realisation was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach as he rolled over and stared at the light just visible under the door of the hospital ward they were staying in for the night. He made great efforts to slow his breathing so that Pansy could think he was asleep and let herself cry, the sound of her muffled sobs haunting what little sleep Neville was able to get. 

* * *

  
Blackened rubble and debris was all that remained of Pansy’s flat by the following morning. The Aurors were working with the Wizarding Fire Service to determine the cause of the blaze, but that was of little comfort to Pansy, who had lost everything. Neville had overridden all her objections and insisted on setting up his spare room for her use. They could make a trip to Diagon Alley to replace any clothes, books or other home comforts Pansy felt she needed. In the meantime, Neville had plenty of clothes for her to borrow, though his flannel shirts were ridiculously long on her, to the point she had to use a shrinking charm to make them fit properly. But she wasn’t complaining. She wasn’t speaking much at all actually, but spent an inordinate amount of time staring pensively into the distance as she watched Neville busy himself with rooftop gardening and cups of tea. She was thankful that he understood her in a way that most others didn’t. She didn’t need words or even hugs right now, though that didn’t stop her from curling up at Neville’s side every night like an overgrown cat. She just needed to not feel alone and vulnerable. Neville was her safe place until her world righted itself again, if it ever did. But whether it did or didn’t, Neville was _home_ to her now in every sense of the word…


	13. Assyrian Incense

Neville woke groggily and wrinkled his nose, a most awful smell assaulting his senses before he’d even opened his eyes. He recognised the scent immediately - Stinksap. It gave off a distinctive odour that was akin to rancid manure. Neville had been covered in the stuff more than once. His Mimbulus Mimbletonia had been more touchy than usual in recent weeks. Truth be told, it had well and truly outgrown its pot and needed to be outside in the rooftop garden, where the smell of Stinksap wouldn’t be quite so overpowering. 

Neville opened his eyes and froze, immediately wishing he could shut his eyes again and pretend this was all a dream. Green. Dark green covered every wall of the living room. And not a pleasant forest green chosen by a painter or Neville himself. No, no, it was a dark, slimy green with the texture of a bat-bogey gone wild. At the centre of the room sat an over-sized, innocent looking, boil-covered cactus - Neville’s Mimbulus. Neville stood up and took a step toward it, realising a second too late that he had put his foot in a pool of Stinksap, sliding feet-first into the green slime which quickly coated his legs and back. For a moment he didn’t even want to get up, wishing it was possible for him to simply close his eyes and have the slimy mess vanish. But then Pansy stumbled into the room, her hands covering her nose and mouth, trying to avoid breathing in the putrid stench. 

“ _Sweet Salazar,_ Neville, what is that smell?” Pansy said, registering the chaotic state of the room a second too late, sliding through the Stinksap and colliding with him. 

“Morning,” Neville said with a groan, cringing guiltily at the state of his flat. 

“I’m not usually opposed to green décor,” Pansy said, wrinkling her nose at him. “But this is a bit much, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“It’s the Mimbulus,” Neville explained. “It’s not happy. It’s been confined to the pot for too long, I think. It needs space to flower and reproduce.” 

“Are you trying to tell me your plant is _horny?_ ” Pansy asked, lapsing into giggles. It was the first time Neville had seen her smile since the fire, and it sent a warmth through him despite the cold slime that coated his clothes. 

“No,” Neville protested with a little chuckle. “It’s _lonely.”_

“Horny, lonely, same difference,” Pansy shrugged, extracting her wand from her pocket. “ _Evanesco,”_ she muttered, vanishing the Stinksap. 

“Thanks,” Neville said gratefully, his walls now returned to their original white cream, rather than Stinksap green. 

“I think I preferred the green,” Pansy said thoughtfully. “ _Colovaria,”_ she exclaimed, charming his walls forest green. 

“Hey!” Neville protested. 

“What?” Pansy said innocently. “You told me to make myself at home.” 

“That was _last_ week,” Neville said petulantly. 

“You mean to tell me that the great Neville Franklin Longbottom is not a wizard of his word?” Pansy said, aghast. “What _would_ your Gran say about that?” she said with a smirk. 

“You wouldn’t,” Neville said, though he wasn’t absolutely certain where the line was for Pansy. 

“I might,” Pansy said wickedly. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Neville said suspiciously. 

“Unless you found a way to persuade me to hold my _tongue,”_ Pansy said softly. 

Neville’s lips found hers without conscious thought. All there was in this moment was _Pansy_ and her soft lips and sinful mouth, as he coaxed a breathy moan from her lips, sending a spark of desire racing through Neville’s veins. He buried his hands in Pansy’s hair, tugging gently, his tongue sliding across hers. Neville groaned, he wanted _more,_ so much more. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, remembering that Pansy was vulnerable at the moment. He couldn’t take advantage. Gran had raised a gentleman. Gentlemen treated ladies with respect. They didn’t ravage them in their pyjamas. 

“Well, consider me persuaded,” Pansy said with a grin. “Now, about your horny plant…”

“ _Lonely,”_ Neville corrected her, cursing the tell-tale blush that rose in his cheeks and praying to Merlin, Circe, Morgana and Godric himself that the other thing that rose would go quietly away without Pansy noticing. 

“Right, sure,” Pansy said with a wink. “So, how do we help your plant control its' urges?” she said with a giggle as Neville helped her to her feet. 

“We need to take it up onto the roof. There’s a special incense I got from Mr Mulpepper that will encourage it to bloom,” Neville explained. “Once it does, it will drop seeds and little baby Mimbuluses will sprout.”

“Alright,” Pansy agreed. “I’ll get the plant, you get the incense,” she said, scooping up the overgrown Mimbulus, which was making odd, squelching, crooning sounds. Pansy looked equal parts revolted and fascinated, making Neville laugh. 

* * *

  
  


“That’s a lot of incense sticks,” Pansy commented, as Neville settled his Mimbulus Mimbletonia into the freshly dug earth. Already the plant seemed happier in the open air than in Neville’s flat, its' little boil-covered body squirming to reach the sun’s rays. 

“Yeah, it’s a combination they use in Egypt and Assyria which is where my Uncle got my Mimbulus from,” Neville explained. “Myrrh, frankincense, saffron, cinnamon, and cassia.”

Neville arranged three incense burners in front of the Mimbulus, lighting each stick with his wand, the sweet, perfumed aromas filling the air as the smoke drifted upwards. Neville and Pansy settled side-by-side to watch, the sweet scents and gentle humming sounds of the Mimbulus making for a relaxing atmosphere in the early morning sun.

By the time the last of the incense sticks had burned down, each of the Mimbulus’s boils had formed into a long, closed flower blossom. When the sun reached its peak at mid-day, the flowers burst into bloom, beautiful sunset tangerines and oranges flowering in the place of the boils. 

“Amazing,” Pansy said, fascinated by the rare flowering event, which she had never before witnessed. 

“Beautiful,” Neville murmured, and Pansy blushed. He wasn’t talking about the plant. She leaned against him with a sigh, allowing Neville to play with her hair as they sat quietly together. 

“So, in about a week, we’ll have dozens of little Mimbulus babies,” Neville said proudly. 

“Slow down, Neville. I don’t think we’re there yet,” Pansy teased as they left the rooftop garden and went inside for a belated lunch. 

“But what will we call them all?” Neville grinned. “And where will they live?” 

“Not in my room, I can tell you that much,” Pansy said with a laugh. 

“ _Your_ room?” Neville repeated. “The whole flat is my room!” 

“Not anymore,” Pansy said, patting his cheek. “Get used to the green, it’s here to stay.”

“I hope so,” Neville said softly, so softly that Pansy knew he hadn’t meant for her to hear the words that sent a warmth to her cheeks and a thrill of hope to her heart.


	14. The Luck of the Draw

It was raining. It had been all day, Neville thought glumly, watching raindrops trace little rivulets down the windowpane. Something soft collided with the back of his head and Neville turned around, annoyed.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “Quit throwing stuff at me.”

“I’m bored,” Pansy complained. 

“And this is the only way you came up with to entertain yourself?” Neville said, tossing the soft pillow back at her and missing by several inches. 

Pansy sighed and drummed her fingernails on the nearest side-table. 

“Stop... It...” Neville said through gritted teeth. 

Pansy threw up her hands. “Well, what do you suggest?” she said a little snappily. 

Neville sighed, he had discovered that a bored Pansy was an irritable Pansy. And an irritable Pansy was quite frankly, dangerous. He’d better come up with something _fast._

“How about some tea? Or reading?” he offered tentatively. The Wizarding Wireless was going haywire because of the storm, so he preferred to leave it off. 

“Bored,” Pansy said, drawing out the word into one long syllable. “Wait, board games!” she exclaimed. 

“What about them?” Neville said warily, being all too well aware of Pansy’s competitive streak.

“Do you have any games?” Pansy asked, looking eager for the first time all afternoon. 

Neville quickly seized the opportunity, lest she lapse into boredom again. 

“Most of the old board games are at Gran’s,” he said, rummaging through a cupboard as he spoke. “I only have a deck of cards,” he said, producing a ripped box of old cards. 

“Those will work,” Pansy shrugged. “Have you ever played Strip Bullshit?”

“Strip what?” Neville said, certain he hadn’t heard right. 

“Strip… Bullshit,” Pansy said slowly and clearly. 

Neville couldn’t find a single word to say in response, he just gaped at her. Somewhere, Gran was surely having a stroke, or she would be if she could hear the profanity that Pansy uttered so easily. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever played,” Neville managed finally, his mouth dry. 

“Never? Gryffindors are a dull lot, aren’t they?” she said incredulously. 

“We mostly played Exploding Snap,” Neville said feebly, as Pansy tugged him down onto the floor so that he was sitting opposite her in the space where the coffee-table had stood before its accidental vanishing. The fireplace crackled merrily opposite them as Pansy began to shuffle and deal the cards, splitting the deck between them. 

“I don’t know how to play,” Neville reminded her, picking up his stack of cards nervously. 

“It’s easy. I’ll teach you,” Pansy promised. “It's simple enough - just a game of luck and bluff... Now, if I say I have, let’s see, three ace’s,” she said, setting the cards facedown. “What do you say to that? Am I lying or telling the truth?”

“Lying,” Neville said, eyeing the three aces in his hand. Since there were only four in a deck, Pansy couldn’t be telling the truth when she’d said she also had three. 

“If you think I’m lying, you have to say _bullshit,”_ Pansy said with a grin. “If you’re right, I have to pick up the cards and take off an item of clothing. If you’re _wrong,_ you pick up the cards and take off an item of your clothing. With me so far?”

“So the aim,” Neville said calmly, trying not to think of what Pansy might look like underneath her knitted jumper, “...is to be the first to use up all your cards without being caught out lying?”

“Bullshitting, you mean,” Pansy smirked. 

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Neville said with a stab at bravado. 

“So am I bullshitting or not?” Pansy asked. 

“Yes, you are,” Neville replied. 

“I’m what?” Pansy said slyly. 

“B-bullshitting,” Neville said quietly, certain that his Gran was about to pop out from behind the sofa at any minute and tell him that he owed a sickle to the swear jar. 

“What? I couldn’t hear you,” Pansy said innocently, cupping her ear. 

“Bullshit,” Neville ground out through gritted teeth. 

“Little louder,” Pansy said teasingly. 

“Bullshit!!” Neville exclaimed as Pansy lapsed into a fit of giggles. 

Neville leaned forward and turned over Pansy’s cards, revealing an ace and two threes. He slid them over to her as Pansy removed her scarf and waved it around a little for effect. 

“You’re up. Two’s,” Pansy reminded him. 

“Umm two two’s,” Neville said, setting the cards face-down. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Pansy said, studying his face. “Two three’s,” she said, her face the picture of innocence as she set them face-down. Having seen her try to sneak two three’s past him earlier, Neville didn’t question it. But glancing at his hand, he saw that he had no four’s to play. 

“Two four’s,” Neville lied, selecting two cards at random and slapping them facedown. 

Pansy smirked. “Bullshit,” she said firmly. 

“What?” Neville said indignantly. 

“You heard me,” Pansy said triumphantly. “Bullshit, pick them up and take something off.” 

Neville grumbled, slipping his jumper over his head and flinging it onto the sofa. 

“My turn, three fives,” she said, setting the cards face down. Neville nodded, still sorting the cards he had picked up. 

“Two sixes,” Neville said. 

“Bullshit,” Pansy grinned. 

“But--”

“Bullshit,” Pansy repeated, flipping the cards to reveal only one six and a nine. 

Neville took the cards back and removed his shirt, throwing Pansy a filthy look as he did so. Pansy glanced appreciatively at his naked chest.

“Been working out?” she said with a smirk. 

“I garden,” Neville said stiffly as Pansy laughed. 

“Three sevens,” Pansy said. Neville nodded, not daring to contradict her, lest he lose his jeans next. 

“Three eight’s,” Neville said shiftily, avoiding Pansy’s eyes. 

“Bullshit,” Pansy scoffed. “You’re a terrible liar, Neville.” 

“Oh, am I?” Neville said triumphantly, flipping over the cards to reveal three eights. 

Pansy raised an eyebrow at him. “You played me,” she said, looking mildly impressed. “Alright, I was getting a little warm anyway,” she said, removing her knitted jumper, revealing that she wore no shirt underneath, only a lacy black bra. 

“Put your eyes back in your head,” Pansy said with a laugh. “Two nines.”

“Three ten’s,” Neville said distractedly, blushing furiously when he caught sight of the black lace out of the corner of his eye. 

“Four jack’s,” Pansy said smoothly. 

Neville nodded vaguely before noticing he had two in his hand. He looked up at Pansy who grinned wickedly at him, daring him to call her out. 

“Bull!” Neville exclaimed. “Bull _fucking_ shit!” he said loudly, reaching for her cards, but before he could even turn them over, there was a _pop_ from the fireplace, as Augusta Longbottom materialised from the Floo. Pansy dove for her jumper just in time, and flung it over herself, as she desperately tried to stop the giggles that wanted to escape at being caught in such a compromising position and by Neville’s gran of all people. 

“Neville Franklin Longbottom!” the old lady exclaimed. “Never in my life have I heard such foul language! Were you raised in the gutter? And where is your shirt?” 

Neville stammered an apology, pulling on his shirt and jumper, his face as red as a tomato, as his Gran scolded him and sent him to his room. 

“And as for _you,”_ Augusta said, rounding on Pansy. “Miss Parkinson, isn’t it?”

Pansy nodded mutely. 

“You poor dear,” Augusta said, patting Pansy’s hand. “I heard all about the fire. How about I fix us some tea and a nice sponge cake?” 

“That would be lovely,” Pansy said, taken aback, and allowing Augusta to escort her to the kitchen, where Mrs Longbottom busied herself with the kettle and lamented Neville’s lack of proper cake tins, chatting gaily all the while. Pansy found herself liking the feisty old lady more and more as they talked about Pansy’s work and the miserable rain and whether or not Mrs Longbottom’s old parrot was likely to make as nice a hat as her stuffed vulture. 

Neville surfaced after a good half hour, his shirt neatly tucked into his trousers, as he offered his Gran an apology for his behaviour, but the old lady waved it away, serving him up a steaming mug of tea and a large slice of cake. 

“Never mind that,” Augusta said airily. “Too many apologies is a waste of breath if you ask me. Besides they bore me to Hades, I’ve told you enough times,” she said reprovingly, as Pansy grinned, realising she had more in common with Neville’s gran than she had first thought.


	15. Off the Map

Pansy sighed internally, gritting her teeth to stop the litany of complaints that had been brewing for the past two and a half hours from escaping. It was  _ thoughtful and a new experience,  _ not stupid and boring, she reminded herself. Spontaneous was sexy. Even if this hadn't been quite what she'd meant when she'd suggested they do something different. She'd meant  _ not sitting at home.  _ She had envisioned a pottery class or a Muggle cinema, not hiking. Hiking was so … sweaty and tiring. She was sure she was dehydrated. Either that or she had a migraine from keeping her opinions to herself for hours. Restraint wasn't something she typically practiced, and certainly not for so long. Holding her tongue for a few minutes, she could certainly do. Holding back desperate pleas to abandon this whole idea and go home and soak her blistered, aching feet… well, that was certainly more difficult. 

She glanced wearily up at the figure walking a few steps ahead of her. She studied the back of Neville's shirt which, unlike hers, didn't seem to be sticking to him. Pansy's own shirt clung to her in patches of cold sweat, but, of course, Neville was too fit and too perfect to break a sweat. Pansy seethed at that thought. She was sweaty, tired and trudging down a rocky, uneven path with shoes that rubbed in all the wrong places and made every step painful. And she'd had just about enough. She'd be lucky if she could walk at all after this, and would likely spend days nursing her tortured feet. 

Neville came to an abrupt halt and turned to face her, frowning, his brow wrinkled, apparently deep in thought. He turned left and right and back again, turning the map this way and that, confirming Pansy's worst fears. 

"We should've passed it by now," Neville mumbled to himself as Pansy took a moment to catch her breath. 

"Passed what?" Pansy asked, striving to keep her tone neutral, rather than irritable. 

"The big rock on the east side of the track," Neville said, consulting the map again. "After the big rock, there should be a tree, then another big rock at the fork in the path. But I can't seem to--" he paused and frowned again, staring hard at the map and then back at the rough track they had come down. 

"We're lost," Pansy said glumly. 

"No, we're not," Neville objected, rubbing the back of his neck. "We just took a wrong turn somewhere." 

"That wasn't a question, Neville," Pansy said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "We. Are. Lost." 

"We're not lost. I just don't know exactly where we are," Neville said distractedly. 

"That's the definition of lost," Pansy exclaimed, seizing the map and examining it for herself. 

When Neville turned to look out at the surrounding hills for landmarks, Pansy very discreetly tapped the map with her wand, changing the course ever so slightly. 

"I don't know how, but we've gotten completely turned around," Pansy declared. 

"That doesn't make any sense," Neville said with a frown. 

"See for yourself," Pansy shrugged. "We're going in the wrong direction." 

"Huh. You're right," Neville said, studying the map. The big rock he'd been looking for was clearly marked and was miles away, back the way they'd come. 

"Never mind, come on," Pansy said, tugging his arm, as the pair made their way back down the path. 

* * *

They had returned to the quiet road Neville's flat stood on before he seemed to become suspicious and looked at Pansy and then back at the map, though Pansy didn't doubt he had known for some miles and chosen to say nothing. 

"If you wanted to go home, you could have just said so," Neville laughed, slinging an arm around Pansy's shoulders. 

She blushed, looking up at him guiltily. 

"I didn't want you to be disappointed," Pansy said with a little sigh. 

"In you?" Neville said disbelievingly. "Never," he declared, unlocking the door, and leading her inside.

A warmth seemed to fill Pansy as she crossed the threshold and kicked off her shoes at last. All roads in the future she had mapped out led back here to her true home - Neville Franklin Longbottom. 


	16. Meet the Family

"What's the matter?" Neville asked, watching Pansy wrinkle her nose in disgust. 

A large screech owl had just delivered a letter to her and Neville had noted her reaction immediately. Pansy had looked as though she wanted to set fire to the envelope before she had even opened the letter or read its contents. 

"Nothing," Pansy said, though her eyes were narrowed and her expression clouded with mingled pain and regret.  _ Something was the matter,  _ Neville deduced, determined to find out what. 

"Bad news?" he asked gently, pouring her a fresh cup of tea. 

"You could say that," Pansy said with a sigh. "My mother is coming to visit." 

"What?" Neville exclaimed, so thoroughly distracted by this unexpected announcement that he very nearly poured the tea into the sugar bowl rather than Pansy's cup. 

"Yep," Pansy said grimly. 

"When is she coming?" Neville asked, glancing around the room guiltily and noting the general state of untidiness with a cringe. His flat was not in a fit state to receive visitors, and it certainly was not in a fit state to be seen by a rich and well to do witch like Pansy's mother. 

"She's coming today," Pansy told him. 

"Today?" Neville repeated in horror. 

"Probably in the next twenty minutes," Pansy shrugged. "That letter was charmed to alert her as soon as I opened it." 

"Then  _ why _ did you open it?" Neville exclaimed in disbelief. "And why is she coming here?" 

"She said she wants to talk," Pansy replied. 

A knock sounded at the door and Neville dove for his wand, beginning to vanish the dirty dishes out of sight. 

"I'll get it then, shall I?" Pansy said with a smirk as Neville raced around the room, fluffing cushions and straightening books in a blind panic. 

There were two distinct  _ clicks  _ as Pansy unlocked the front door and swung it open to admit a woman who bore little physical resemblance to Pansy, aside from the matching expression of not quite concealed pain and regret. 

"Mother, long time," Pansy said stiffly as Neville dashed to the couch and sat down, trying to appear calm and perfectly at his ease. 

"No need to take my cloak and hat, Pansy, I won't be here long," a voice announced, as Neville listened intently from the living room. 

"That works out well because I'm not your bloody house-elf. Hang up your own cloak," Pansy retorted, stalking into the living room and sitting close to Neville. 

"Am I going to have to introduce myself?" Mrs Parkinson asked, following her daughter into the living room. Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Neville, this is my mother, Calliope Parkinson," Pansy said with a shrug, gesturing her mother to a seat. "Mother, this is Neville Longbottom, my--" she paused and Neville waited for her to define their relationship. Friend? Boyfriend? Significant Other? "My  _ everything, _ " Pansy declared finally, with no shortage of challenge in both her eyes and tone as she addressed her mother. 

Calliope's lips twitched and she studied Neville for a moment, making him feel like a billywig under a magnifying glass. 

"It's nice to finally meet you, Mr Longbottom," Calliope said. "Pansy has told us almost nothing about you. I assume this is your flat?" she asked curtly as Neville nodded, unable to think of a thing to say. "Lovely." 

"Thank you," Neville said a little awkwardly, uncomfortably aware that the whole place was in desperate need of dusting. "Can I get you a cup of tea, Mrs Parkinson?" he offered politely. 

"Oh please, call me Calliope," she said with a wave of her hand. "Tea isn't really my preference, but I wouldn't be opposed to a nice brandy or perhaps a little firewhiskey." 

"I'll see what I can do," Neville promised, moving to rise from the sofa. 

"Sit down," Pansy told him through gritted teeth. 

"This is how you treat your young man? Ordering him about like a lackey?" Calliope said, raising an eyebrow at her daughter. 

"Mother can fix her own drinks. Unless things have changed, she keeps a small liquor store in her purse," Pansy continued as though Calliope hadn't spoken. 

"If you please, Mr Longbottom, I would like a word alone with my daughter," Calliope said calmly. 

"No," Pansy said. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of him." 

" _ Really,  _ Pansy, this is a family matter," Calliope said, sounding thoroughly put out. 

"Let me put this plainly then, in words you'll understand," Pansy said coldly. "I am not going to be left alone with you, Mother. Consider yourself lucky I didn't confiscate your wand at the door." 

"What is it you think I would do to you, Pansy? To my own daughter?" Calliope asked as Neville found himself wishing he had been allowed to escape to the kitchen, albeit temporarily. 

"Nothing," Pansy replied. "That was always the problem." 

Calliope bit her lip and inhaled sharply through her nose before responding. 

"I have made mistakes, Pansy," she admitted. 

"You've made  _ choices,"  _ Pansy corrected her. Calliope's eyes flashed and she brushed a tendril of vibrant red hair behind her ear impatiently. 

" _ Nevertheless,"  _ Calliope said stiffly, seeming to be struggling to retain her composure. "I am here now and I-- I need your help." Her eyes met Pansy's and Neville could feel the tremors that coursed through Pansy's small frame as she seemed to struggle to restrain herself. 

"Help with what?" Pansy said sharply. 

"I don't expect you to forgive me, Pansy," Calliope stated, regret evident in her tone.

"Good. You won't be disappointed then," Pansy informed her. 

"When I tell you what I'm about to tell you--" Calliope hesitated, her lips trembling and her eyes filling with tears. "I-- I was trying to  _ help.  _ I hope you can see that," Calliope implored her. "I thought she would help her, that she would have a better life. I never imagined…" her voice faltered and her perfect control seemed to break, tears tracing lines down her cheeks. 

Neville's breath seemed to catch in his throat. 

"What did you do?" Pansy said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What the  _ fuck  _ did you do?" she demanded when Calliope shook her head and didn't answer. "Mother!" Pansy exclaimed warningly. 

"Delores Umbridge," Calliope managed. A sense of cold dread coiled in Neville's stomach at the mere mention of the name. If Umbridge was involved, it couldn't be good. "A few years before the end of the war, she and the Minister passed a piece of legislation - the Werewolves, Beasts and Dangerous Half Breeds Act," she explained. 

"Right," Pansy said slowly. 

"There were people who  _ disappeared  _ during the war. Or were taken," Calliope said, her voice shaking. "They were  _ bitten.  _ Infected with lycanthropy." 

_ Poppy,  _ Neville thought grimly. 

"Most of the missing people were declared dead by the Ministry," Calliope continued. "But Delores, she had connections with the Department of Mysteries. She said she could cure lycanthropy, make people right again."

"Oh God," Pansy said, her face paling. 

"I didn't know," Calliope said pleadingly. "I-- I didn't know she was trying to  _ torture  _ people to remove the infection. I was trying to  _ save  _ her, I-- I just wanted to help her have a normal life. I didn't think--" 

"Don't say it," Pansy said, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. 

"When we found out what Poppy was," Calliope said, shaking her head sadly. "I didn't want to, but your father and Delores, they said they could  _ help her _ , and I-- I let them take her," she finished in a whisper. 

A cry tore from Pansy's throat at Calliope's admission and Neville watched helplessly as Pansy leapt up from the sofa and fled the room, slamming the door behind her. 

"I thought Poppy was dead," Neville said quietly. 

"I wish she was," Calliope replied in a deadened tone. "It would have been more merciful than whatever Delores has done to her and the rest of those poor people." 

Neville felt like he was going to be sick and got up to leave the room. 

"Where are you going?" Calliope asked. 

"I'm going to make sure Pansy's alright," Neville replied. "And then I'm going to make a fire-call to my friends in the Auror Office, and we're going to get Poppy back. For  _ Pansy's  _ sake," he added, hating the relief he saw in Calliope's eyes. 

He hadn't done anything yet, but when he did, it would be for Pansy. He would do whatever it took to reunite her with her sister, though he dreaded the thought of what damage may have already been done to the little girl. Whatever happened, Delores Umbridge's comeuppance was long overdue and he would see that the vile woman got her just desserts at least once in her miserable life… 


	17. Messages in Flames

Pansy paced her room, absolutely fuming. She fought to get her ragged breathing under control, feeling shaky and nauseous as white-hot anger pulsed through her veins. She was never forgiving her mother for this. _Never._ If it wasn't bad enough that her parents had sold Poppy into captivity and likely torture under Delores Umbridge, the fact that they'd let her believe Poppy was dead was unforgivable. It had been nearly four years. _Four years_ she had grieved for her sister! Her parents had lied to her all that time, let her sink into grief and depression and guilt, and with a word, they could have removed her misery and they hadn't. 

There was a knock at the door. 

"What?" Pansy called, with a definite bite to her tone. "I didn't say _come in,_ " she complained, as Neville entered, bearing a cup of tea. 

"I know," he said, looking decidedly unapologetic as Pansy glared. "Humour me," he said pleadingly, when she uncrossed her arms and grudgingly took the steaming cup of tea from him.

"Fine," she said reluctantly. "How's Calliope?" Pansy asked, narrowing her eyes when Neville continued to hover awkwardly in the doorway. 

"I wouldn't know," Neville said with a shrug. "She left not long after you." 

Pansy bit her lip, feeling a little guilty for leaving Neville to deal with her mother. 

"Sorry I stormed out," she said quietly. "It was just too much, I--" 

"Hey," Neville said gently, smoothing a few stray wisps of hair back from her forehead. "Did I ever tell you apologies bore me?" 

Pansy's lips twitched, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. _Did he have to be so stinking adorable?_

"We're going to get her back," Neville promised. Pansy allowed him to tug her down to sit on the soft mattress beside him, still cradling her tea. 

"What if we can't? What if we can't find her?" Pansy asked worriedly. 

"We will," Neville said certainly. 

"How can you be so sure? Until this morning, I thought Umbridge was doing time in Azkaban. How can Minister Shacklebolt have let this happen? How can Hermione?" Pansy said bitterly, a hint of accusation underlining her words. 

"I don't know," Neville said thoughtfully. "But we're going to find out." 

"How? How are we going to find out? Umbridge is clearly good at covering her tracks and she has connections with all the right, or should I say _wrong,_ people… and it's been too long, Neville. Four years… Four years!" Pansy exclaimed, rising and beginning to pace agitatedly again. "What if we're too late? What if she's already--?" she paused and let the unfinished question hang in the air, unable to articulate the dread that filled her at the thought that her sweet sister may have been subjected to the cruelest of agonies for so long and then taken from her before she had the chance to make it right. 

"She's not," Neville said quietly. 

"How can you be so damn sure?" Pansy asked. His calm was so infuriating, she wanted to hit him. 

"Did you wonder why your mother came to see you? Why she told us about what really happened to Poppy after all this time?" Neville asked. Pansy winced at the sound of her sister's name, but paused her pacing long enough to consider Neville's questions. 

"Why did she?" Pansy frowned. "We hardly talk anymore, and it's not like--" she paused as Neville produced a newspaper and set it down. 

"Page twelve," he murmured, as Pansy passed him her teacup and rifled through the paper to find the article Neville was talking about. 

" _Cause of Mystery Blaze Determined,"_ Pansy read aloud. "The Wizarding Fire Service think the fire that burned down my flat was caused by accidental magic?" she said questioningly. "But that's not how it works, Neville. Usually accidental magic is just cute little displays - levitating objects, changing hair colour. An out of control fire is--" 

"...only possible if the witch or wizard was scared or angry." Neville surmised. 

"Or in pain," Pansy murmured. "You-- my mother thinks this was Poppy? She would never hurt me, Neville. It makes no sense," Pansy said, shaking her head.

"She wouldn't hurt you," Neville agreed. "But she would try to reach you, try to ask for help or let you know she was still alive. Maybe that's what this was. She was trying to send you a message." 

"You think so?" Pansy said, trying not to get her hopes up. 

"Your mother certainly does. I know you two have your issues," he added quickly. "But I don't think she would come here if she wasn't sure. If the Aurors find Poppy and uncover all the dirty little secrets of Umbridge's anti-werewolf operation, your parents could be up in front of the Wizengamot on serious criminal charges." 

"What about the anti-werewolf legislation Mother mentioned?" Pansy said doubtfully. "Werewolves don't have rights under wizarding law. Umbridge may not be breaking any laws at all. The Aurors may not be able to do anything about it." 

"The Ministry repealed that legislation over three years ago," Neville reminded her. "It was one of the first things Hermione did when she started serving on the Wizengamot, and Kingsley approved it." 

"But they didn't make any new legislation to protect Werewolves or their rights," Pansy said worriedly. "So it won't make any difference." 

"When did you become an expert on wizarding law?" Neville asked with some surprise. 

"I'm not," Pansy shrugged. "But I've been wanting to do something to help werewolves for a long time. I know what the limitations are." 

Neville nodded, seeming to be deep in thought. "I'll have a word about it to Hermione and Harry and Ron," he decided. "Finish your tea," he said, disappearing into the living room to make a few fire-calls. 

Pansy sipped at her tea, which was only lukewarm by now, mulling over everything they now knew or suspected. She had reached the bottom of the cup before she realised there was another hidden message. This one didn't need decoding or guesswork to decipher. At the bottom of her teacup, written in everlasting ink, were the words " _Love you,"_ in Neville's handwriting. 

Her expression softened, along with her heart, and she sat staring at those two little words for a very long time. Just that short message was enough to send a warmth and a comfort flooding through her that was sweeter and more satisfying than butterbeer or firewhiskey. She wished she could say it back, but the words would sound tacky and silly, _juvenile_ even, coming out of her mouth. So she would just have to show him, she decided, that she loved him too. And not because he was helping her or keeping a roof over her head, but because all else aside, Neville was the only person in the world she trusted and wanted to be with - forever. 


	18. Cider and Happiness

Neville stared mournfully out the rain-lashed windows, watching the tiny rivulets of water trace lines down the pane. The rain suited the sombre mood in the flat. Pansy had retreated to her room,  _ not upset - 'frustrated',  _ she had been most insistent about that point. And why wouldn't she be frustrated? Neville was frustrated at the lack of leads too. 

In a little over two weeks, they had turned up exactly nothing. The Auror Office had turned up even less. Harry had tried, he really had, Neville was grateful for his help. Hermione too, had been mortified to learn that Delores Umbridge had eluded justice and was continuing to torture others in pursuit of her "purity" beliefs, damning all half breeds to torture, exile and death. 

The problem though, as Hermione had explained, was their current lack of evidence. All they had was a sworn statement from Calliope Parkinson stating that her daughter had been admitted to a werewolf cure program run by Delores Umbridge through her connections with an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. No known records of the program existed, though the Auror Office was assigning a small task force to go through the Ministry archives. Known associates of Delores had been questioned and yielded no helpful information, though a number claimed she had blackmailed and Imperiused them. And Delores herself was nowhere to be found. The only new piece of information they had uncovered was that the cell in Azkaban that was meant to house Delores had been occupied by an Imperiused secretary who had been magically transfigured to resemble Delores. The secretary, however, claimed to know nothing about Delores' whereabouts. 

Kingsley had apologised profusely for failing to uncover the suspicious project, but could not offer any explanation for how Delores had managed to disappear so completely and who might be funding her project. High ranking Ministry officials who Harry and Neville suspected had committed infected relatives to the program declined to speak. Still others came forward whose loved ones had vanished mysteriously during the war and demanded answers. It was a confusing mess of which Neville could make neither heads nor tails. He just hoped that if Poppy had managed to survive suspected cruel treatment for four years, she could perhaps hold out long enough for them to find her. Tracking spells had thus far been ineffective, whether because it had been too long or because wherever she was hidden was too heavily warded against magical means of discovery. Pansy had held up bravely, but Neville could tell she was close to breaking point. If obsessing over Poppy was taxing for him, he couldn't imagine what it must be like for her. 

They both needed a night off, he decided. Just one night to push it all to the back of their minds and engage in a little harmless distraction from the endless agonising search. After all, if they fell apart, who would continue the search for Poppy? 

* * *

"Are you okay?" Pansy asked, having come home at the end of a tiring day at work to find Neville sitting in front of a blazing fire in the hearth. It was most unlike him to be sitting idle. 

"Just fine," Neville said with a soft smile that melted Pansy's insides. "Here," he said, getting up and pouring her a glass of mulled cider, gesturing her to take his seat by the fireplace. 

"Smells like Christmas," Pansy said, inhaling deeply as she sipped at her cup. "Out of tea, are we?" she said teasingly. 

"Just felt like something different," Neville shrugged. "Change can be good, you know." 

Pansy wrinkled her nose at him. 

"What?" Neville asked. 

"Nothing. I just-- change - I hate it. Mulled cider though - I love it!" Pansy exclaimed, smacking her lips and leaning in to press a soft kiss to Neville's mouth.

He gave a little gasp of surprise but kissed her back eagerly, his tongue teasing at her lips until Pansy allowed him to deepen the kiss, drawing him closer and longing to just sink into the heat and the beckoning hardness pressed against her, wishing she never had to come up for air. What else did she need when she had him? 

"What were you saying about change?" Pansy asked some moments later, Neville having broken the kiss to breathe and gently caress her hair. 

"That sometimes it's good and exactly what you need," Neville said a little breathlessly, his cheeks flushed with colour. 

"What are you trying to tell me, Neville?" Pansy said suspiciously. "Is all this about changes…" her voice trailed off, a startling and devastating thought occurring to her. "Is that it? You want a  _ change,  _ a break from me? From all of this? Just, for Salazar's sake, say it! Don't string me along, I-- I can't take it right now, I really--" 

Neville halted her words, pressing a finger to her lips. 

"Don't," he said very quietly. 

"Don't what?" Pansy said defensively. The week had been too long, and her sister's life was too much in jeopardy, and she was too fragile right now, and she knew it. 

Neville shook his head slightly. 

"Don't ever think that I want a change from this. There isn't a world in which I wouldn't want to be with you," he promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Pansy let out a relieved sigh and drained her cup of cider, needing to feel the warmth fill her up inside. 

"What are you on about then?" she asked desperately. 

"Just this," Neville said, setting an envelope in her lap. "I think it could be a good change. For you. For your career. For your happiness." 

Pansy turned the envelope over, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the wax seal and accompanying Hogwarts crest. 

Fingers trembling, she opened the envelope with a tap of her wand, and extracted a piece of parchment. 

" _ Dear Miss Parkinson,"  _ the letter said in green ink.  _ "I am pleased to extend you an offer to complete the seventh and final year of your magical education via a course of correspondence. As a mature student already in the employ of the Ministry, I understand that your availability may be restricted. As such, should you choose to accept my offer, seventh year studies may be undertaken at your own pace, provided you complete the readings and necessary coursework. All written assignments must be posted by owl and N.E.W.T exams must be scheduled and completed at a Ministry testing centre. If you wish to accept or discuss any aspect of this offer, please contact me by return owl to set up a fire-call or meeting to discuss your study options. Professor M McGonagall, Headmistress."  _

Pansy let the letter flutter to the floor in stunned disbelief. She turned to glance at Neville, whose innocent expression faded the moment she met his eyes. 

"Did you--"

"I did," Neville confessed immediately. 

"Why?" Pansy asked, deliberately narrowing her eyes, so as to keep the happy, hopeful bubble rising in her chest from escaping. 

"More cider?" Neville asked, filling her glass. 

"Neville," Pansy said, seizing his sleeve and forcing him to look at her. 

"I didn't mean to interfere--" Neville started. 

"A lie. Not a good start," Pansy said warningly, though her lips twitched as she fought the urge to smile. 

"Okay," Neville conceded. "I  _ did  _ mean to interfere. It's just, I-- I want so much more for you, Pansy," he admitted, a blush flooding his already warm cheeks. "And if you say you're happy in that Ministry job, that the Floo network is vitally important to you, then I'll leave it, I swear it. But if you  _ did  _ want something else, if you did still want to be a Healer or  _ anything.  _ Any job or career that would make you happy… Well, I just thought you should have that chance," he finished. 

"It won't," Pansy said softly. 

"Won't what?" Neville said confusedly. 

"Make me happy. A job, I mean," Pansy explained. 

"What will?" Neville asked anxiously. 

" _ You,  _ you meddling, impulsive Gryffindor," Pansy declared, claiming his lips and a sweet happiness all for her own. 


	19. A New Place To Be Happy

"It's nice," Pansy said, studying the front of the 'holiday house' Neville had acquired for their use over the weekend. 

It belonged to Neville's friend, Ronald Weasley, who had inherited the two bedroom cottage from his Great Aunt Muriel when she had passed unexpectedly last year. Pansy had been surprised Ron had offered it so generously for them to use. She had never been on good terms with the former Gryffindor Keeper. But apparently Neville ranked high enough in Ron's esteem to win a favour or two. 

"Ron said it needs a bit of work," Neville said hesitantly, eying the weeds growing over the walkway that led to the front door. "But it should be nice to get away for a day or two." 

"Relax, Neville," Pansy said airily. 

The change of scenery had already helped ease some of the anxiety she had felt over the past few weeks. She couldn't wait to explore a new place with Neville. A large tree with branches laden with white blossoms shaded the front of the house. Pansy could hardly wait to sit in the shade of the tree and spend some quality time with a book. Perhaps she and Neville could even have a little picnic under the flowering boughs. 

Pansy watched as Neville opened the front door with some difficulty, having to wrestle with the door handle which seemed to be stuck. Even an unlocking charm did little to help. But eventually the door swung open and Pansy stepped inside. 

A musty, stale smell filled Pansy's nostrils and she wrinkled her nose, privately wondering when Ron had been here last, or if he'd ever  _ cleaned  _ the place. 

"There's only one bed," Pansy noted after they'd finished looking around the small cottage. 

"I'll sleep on the couch," Neville volunteered instantly. 

"No, you won't," Pansy objected. 

"Honestly, I don't mind," Neville said with a shrug. 

"Well, too bad. I  _ mind, _ " Pansy said firmly. "We can share." 

"Do I get a say in it?" Neville asked with a grin. 

"Nope, none at all," Pansy said, crossing her arms stubbornly. 

"Huh," Neville said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 

"What?" Pansy asked suspiciously. 

Neville's lips twitched; he seemed to be struggling not to laugh. 

"Well, your solution to  _ one  _ bed is to share, right?" Neville asked. 

"Yes," Pansy said, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

"So, what's your solution to one bathtub?" Neville said with a laugh. 

Pansy paused, pretending to consider. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Pansy murmured. "Last one there is a rotten Doxy egg!" she breathed into Neville's ear, tugging playfully at his earlobe with her teeth before dashing down the corridor to reach the bathroom first. 

Neville, however, didn't move. Surely Pansy was teasing. She couldn't possibly mean that they-- He blushed as the memory of the Double Bubble Daydream returned to him, the image of a dream version of Pansy climbing naked into the tub with him fresh in his mind. 

Mouth dry, he moved toward the bathroom, but before he'd taken two steps, there was a shriek that echoed through the house. 

Neville sprinted for the bathroom, coming to a halt in the doorway. Pansy was balancing on the edge of the tub, a shoe in one hand, her wand in the other. 

Edging closer, Neville noted the large spider that had taken up residence in the tub. 

With precision, Pansy dropped her shoe behind the spider, watching the many legged beast scuttle forward, right into the path of her non-verbal stunning spell. 

Pansy shuddered as she conjured a glass jar and levitated the spider into it, screwing the lid on tight. 

"Want me to release him into the garden?" Neville offered, eying the unconscious spider. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Pansy said, her eyes gleaming wickedly. "I'm going to send it to Ron as a thank you." 

Neville couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up at the idea of Ron's reaction to that particular gift. 

"Well, I suppose you won't be wanting a bath now," Neville said with a smirk, watching the captured spider's legs twitch. 

"Why not?" Pansy said with a shrug, fitting a plug over the drain and beginning to turn the taps, steam from the hot water rising in the air. " _ Accio  _ Happy Apple!" Pansy cried, summoning a bottle from her bag in the living room. 

She poured a fair amount of a sparkly green liquid into the tub, bubbles frothing and foaming into existence immediately. 

"What does that one do?" Neville asked curiously, remembering the Double Bubble Daydream. 

"It smells like apples. And it reminds you of your happy place," Pansy said with a shrug, slipping her shirt over her head and beginning to unbutton her jeans. 

Neville immediately turned around and faced around from her, determined to be a gentleman. He should flee to the living room and preserve her dignity, he knew that. But even gentlemen couldn't help noticing things like smooth, rounded breasts and a flat, toned stomach and the way the smell of violets seemed to linger in the air. It was Pansy's scent and he well knew it. 

"What are you so afraid of?" Pansy demanded, seizing Neville's arm and turning him to face her. 

Neville blushed when he saw that she was clad now only in a bra and lacy panties. 

"I'm not afraid," he managed to say. "I just-- I was raised a certain way. To  _ respect  _ ladies," he added, trying to focus on Pansy's face and not her cleavage. 

"Don't you want this? Want me?" Pansy asked daringly. 

"I-- yes," Neville admitted. "But I don't want to take advantage," he mumbled. 

"You're not taking advantage," Pansy said, shaking her head with a smile. "And, in fact, it's  _ disrespectful _ when a lady invites a gentleman into a tub with her to refuse said lady." 

Neville looked at her doubtfully, but those doubts quickly vanished when Pansy's soft lips touched his, when she made a little breathy moan of longing into his mouth, when she kissed his throat and trailed kisses down his chest as she unbuttoned his shirt, when she stripped off her bra and panties and climbed into the tub with a gasp as the hot water touched her skin, when her dark eyes met his, beckoning him in silent invitation. 

Neville hastily stripped too, abandoning the remainder of his clothes on the bathroom floor and joining her in the steaming water. He kissed her hard, tangling his hands in her hair as her wet limbs pressed against him in the hot, soapy water. 

He didn't need Double Bubble or Happy Apple for his happy place, Neville realised with a contented sigh. His happy place was right here, with Pansy. And it was new and terrifying and amazing all at once. He wouldn't change it for the world… 


	20. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst... Did I mention angst?

She couldn't move. She was flat on her back, her arms and legs strapped down tightly, the cool metal of an operating table beneath her. She couldn't even raise her head to look around. 

Pain pulsed through her, it's icy bite filling her with an overpowering nausea. But the pain was nothing compared to the fear. A dread so deep it made her shake on the inside. She quivered like a leaf beneath the dispassionate gaze of her _Healer,_ her teeth chattering slightly as she waited for those two words to fall. Two words always signalled the start and five words always signalled the end of the session. 

"Let's begin." 

She gritted her teeth and dug deep for courage. Surely, there wasn't much more they could do to her. She had lost count of the days and weeks. It had been months, maybe even years. Time was counted in procedures. There were no clocks or watches or even sunlight in this place. Just the harsh white of a surgical light. 

So much of her had been replaced with attempted _cures_ that she wondered what she even was anymore. Would her family recognise her when, _if,_ they let her go home? She always ended up here - thinking of her family, her sister most often. Sometimes she lost herself to the memories, she swam in a field of wildflowers, while her sister made daisy chains and read aloud to her from beneath the shade of two tall cedar trees. One tree was smaller than the other, always in its shadow. 

"That's me," she would always say. 

"You'll catch up with me one day, and then you'll far outshine me," her sister would always promise. 

It was of her sister she thought when they injected her blood with silver nitrate. It was for her sister she screamed when they cut her open and sewed moonstones into her belly. It was for her sister she cried when they drained her of much of her blood and magic in order to root out the source of the lycanthropy infection. The magic came back, it always did. But so did the lycanthropy. It was her sister's name she clung to when they forced vile draughts and potions down her throat, concoctions of wolfsbane and fermented moonseeds, and even poisons and venoms to see what effect it would have on the lycanthropy infection. 

By some cruel irony or perhaps the nature of the lycanthropy itself, the more they took away from her, the more they tortured her and brought her to the brink of death and back again, the stronger the infection seemed to become until all that remained in her mind was the wolf. 

That dread beast snarled as they cut and carved into her, trying another _cure_ that would inevitably fail. And all that existed was blood and fear and the growls of a chained animal. The memories flickered and became hazy and grey. The flowers wilted and the cedar trees fell and her sister disappeared, leaving nothing but a broken daisy chain behind. 

She fought and clawed with all her might to hold onto the memory of her sister. Fire burned in her eyes and set a small flat ablaze, a painting of a cedar tree melting into a pool of grey as a man she didn't know and a sister she had half forgotten fled the blaze. 

"Don't leave me," she sobbed over and over. 

Then came the five words that ended the session and prolonged her misery. 

"Excellent progress, Poppy. Rest now…" 

All was darkness and pain and nobody could hear her. They'd all forgotten and run away. 

But somebody heard. In the middle of the night, Pansy Parkinson woke with a scream of terror, the images of her sister's prolonged torture dancing before her eyes. She sat bolt upright and hugged her knees to her chest as she sent up a plea to Circe and Morgana to help her rescue Poppy and rain down hell upon her torturers. 

"What is it?" Neville asked, the single bed they shared in the little holiday house creaking as he moved to curl a comforting arm around Pansy's shoulders. 

"Nothing," Pansy murmured, wiping her eyes. "Just a nightmare…" 


	21. Paint

Pansy's artistic hand traced the canvas lightly, the paint brush dancing in her wake, splashes and swirls of colour detailing a scene, a story written on canvas that she couldn't speak with words - the story of Poppy's pain. Teardrops threatened to mingle with the paint as her brush detailed her sister's haunted eyes and sickly complexion, the limp silvery tresses that had once been curls of burnished gold. She swiped her brush across the angry red scars and painted the even angrier wolf that was Poppy's shadow. The wolf that had haunted Pansy's nightmares for years no longer featured; he was irrelevant. All that mattered was finding her sister. There had to be some clue here in the many paintings she had compiled in the last week. She had painted details from the dream some two dozen times, hoping for a hint that would lead her to Poppy. And her obsession had not gone unnoticed. 

"Pansy," Neville said softly, trying without success to take the paintbrush and palette from her. "You need sleep." 

"No," Pansy said, shaking her head resolutely. "I need Poppy. And paint - I'm almost out." 

Neville sighed heavily and Pansy rolled her eyes at him, too tired to bother concealing her impatience. She didn't need his concern right now. She needed him to help her find her sister, whatever it took. 

"If you're not going to sleep, at least eat something," Neville said anxiously. 

"If you're not going to help, at least sit quietly so I can concentrate," Pansy said through gritted teeth, turning back to her canvas. 

There was more bite to her tone than she'd meant to express and she cringed at that. But six days without sleep tended to set her on edge. She sighed. She didn't want to be on edge with Neville. 

"If I put this brush down and sleep for a few hours, will you stop looking at me like that and get me some more paint?" she asked. 

"How many is a few?" Neville asked doubtfully. 

"Four hours," Pansy shrugged. 

"Six," Neville countered. 

" _ Six?"  _ Pansy repeated, appalled. 

"Six hours or no paint," Neville said firmly. 

"Fine," Pansy agreed, slapping the paintbrush into his hand and smirking at the grey paint that now coated his palm. "See you in six hours." 

"Sleep well," Neville called after her. 

"Don't count on it," Pansy muttered darkly, already dreading and yet hoping for the dreams of Poppy that would likely come. 

* * *

The muggle paint shop was relatively quiet and Neville couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at that. A quiet shop with fewer customers meant a quick and relatively painless trip. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could get back to Pansy. He hated leaving her alone. She was vulnerable right now, even if she would never admit it. He began piling cans of paint onto the counter, doing his best not to eavesdrop on the conversation two men were having behind him.

"The whole damn facility?" one man was repeating in disgust as his friend nodded in agreement, Neville just happening to catch the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

"Yep, she wants the whole bloody place repainted, John. And in  _ pink, _ " the second man said in disgust. "If she wasn't paying me so well, I'd tell her to shove it up her arse." 

"What's she want it painted for anyway, Jim? Thought you said the building was condemned, due to be knocked down any day?" John said in confusion. 

"Dunno," Jim said. "Maybe she's doing up the place, could be planning to renovate it, who knows? All I know is, every time the demolition crew shows up, they seem to forget what they're doing there and go back up the bloody street like they've been hypnotised." 

"Weird," John commented. 

"You don't know the half of it!" Jim exclaimed. "Supposed to be abandoned and all, right? Nobody there? Could swear I heard screaming and crying coming from the corridor down from her office." 

"Maybe it's haunted," John said with a hearty chuckle. 

"Might as well be," Jim muttered. "Bloody eyes everywhere. I could swear the damned kitten plates were watching me." 

"Kitten plates?" John repeated. 

"Dozens of them on every wall. Me, I don't like cats. Never have. I like bossy little toads with sticks up their arses even less. Talked to me like I was a bloody two-year-old," Jim complained.

"Unbelievable," John said, shaking his head. "Been in the business twenty years, that should earn us a little respect if nothing else." 

Jim made a grunt of agreement. 

"What's this broad's name?" John asked. 

"Want to avoid her for future business?" Jim said with a knowing grin. "Hell if I know," he said, pausing to think for a moment. "Deirdre? No, that's not it. Dorothy?" 

"Delores?" Neville said with a look of dawning comprehension, spinning around to face the two men. 

"Yeah, that's it!" Jim declared. "What's it to you?" 

"Nothing," Neville said with a shake of his head. "I might know her is all. Was she wearing a pink cardigan by chance? With a big bow on her head?" 

"Yeah," Jim said, looking a little taken aback. 

"Where's this facility?" Neville asked. "It's important." 

"Yeah, alright," Jim shrugged, digging a business card out of his pocket and scribbling an address down. "That's it there, the entrance is round the side." 

"Thanks so much," Neville said gratefully, taking the card and dropping a handful of Muggle money onto the counter. "Your paint's on me today. Thank you.  _ Thank you!  _ I have to go!" he said, abandoning his own paint cans and walking quickly toward the exit. 

"Anytime!" Jim called after him. "My number's on the back of the card. You need any painting done, call Jim!" 

Neville nodded at him and gave him a wave as he rounded the corner and disapparated as soon as he was out of sight.  _ Finally,  _ they had a lead on Delores and more importantly, Poppy. 


	22. A Pearl Of Great Price

"Six hours are up then?" Pansy said sleepily, looking up at Neville, who was leaning over her. 

"Sorry to wake you," he said quietly. 

"You didn't," Pansy said, stifling a yawn. "What time is it?" 

"Time to go," Neville said with an odd smile. 

"Go?" Pansy repeated. "Go where?" 

"Go find Poppy," Neville replied. 

Pansy sighed. "What do you think I've been trying to do?" she said crossly, throwing the blankets off herself. 

"No, no, Pansy.I know where she is, or at least where Umbridge is," Neville explained. 

"Wait, what?" Pansy said with a frown. "What are you-- when-- _how? Why did you let me sleep?!"_

"It's a long story," Neville said as Pansy scrambled for her shoes. "I met a Muggle painter who's doing a job for Umbridge and he gave me the address," he said triumphantly, showing her the business card Jim had given him. 

"What about the Aurors?" Pansy said, hopping on one foot as she tried to tie her shoe. "They need to know so they can help storm the place and arrest Umbridge." 

But Neville shook his head. 

"I tried that already," he said with a shrug. "Harry and Ron are out on assignment, so I left an urgent message with their assistant, but I don't know if she even took me seriously." 

"Fine, well, they'll catch up," Pansy said, picking up her wand and pocketing a delicate silver chain from which a single glistening pearl dangled. "I'm getting my sister back _now_." 

"And I'm coming," Neville said firmly, following her into the front yard, just beyond the wards, then disapparating with her, side-by-side, just like they were always meant to be. 

* * *

Poppy's eyes flickered open, there was a commotion somewhere outside her door: muffled shouts and the thud of spells impacting. Perhaps they had found a new werewolf to _cure_ , she thought. When her father had first allowed Delores and her friend Croaker to take her with them to cure her, there had been other people, more _monsters_ like her that were brought in every week. Some of them didn't even undergo _treatment_ , (Delores' word for what Poppy had come to think of as torture) but were wheeled through a black door at the end of the hall by Croaker, and never seen again. Over time, the number of patients had dwindled, and new patients were a rarity. 

The noises drew nearer, seeming to indicate that the new patient wasn't as submissive as Poppy had learned to be. 

"Get off me you evil toad!" a voice called. 

Poppy's eyes widened. She _knew_ that voice. She fought the restraints as hard as she could in order to turn her head and see. She hoped that it wasn't her, despite a part of her desperately wishing it was. 

It _was._

_Pansy_ struggling with Delores, who was trying to wrest Pansy's wand away from her, the wandtip dangerously close to Delores' face. 

Pansy had grown up in the years since Poppy had last seen her. She was very beautiful now. The once sharp angles of her face had softened over time, her hair was now long and wavy, and her eyes carried every emotion that Pansy had once fought to hide. 

Pansy's head turned, and in that moment, their eyes met, warm cedar brown finding palest icy blue with a look of shock. 

Poppy knew she must look a sight. There was dried blood sticking to her matted nest of silvery hair and new scars on her face after _treatment_ today. Her young body had been so twisted and mangled by Delores' and Croaker's experimental treatments that she hardly recognised herself anymore. She was still a child, but a broken one at that. 

A cry tore from Poppy's throat. 

"Pansy," she murmured, her sister's sweet name falling from her lips with a sob. 

"Poppy," Pansy said, sounding almost as if she couldn't believe it was really her. 

Then her eyes narrowed, fury flashing across her face. 

"POPPY!!" she yelled. 

She punched out with slender arms that were tanned from working in the rooftop garden, whirling gracefully about like the warrior she was, breaking free of Delores' hold, and punching her square in the nose, her wand clenched in her fist as a _crack_ rent the air and Delores gave a shriek and fell heavily. The older woman scrambled quickly to her hands and knees, but Pansy was quicker, kicking her viciously in the ribs and finishing her with a muttered stunning spell. Delores keeled over, unconscious and with a very clearly broken nose. 

Tears coursed down Poppy's cheeks as Pansy unlocked the door with her wand and ran inside. The restraints fell off, and Poppy sat up, hugging her sister with all her remaining strength. 

For several long moments, Poppy wondered if this wasn't a dream, like the nice ones she sometimes had of a quiet wood, where she would sit under a cedar tree making daisy chains and admiring her big sister who had the finest reading voice Poppy had ever heard. But _no,_ Pansy was real, she was _real_ , and she was here. 

"Pansy?" a male voice yelled down the hall, and Poppy stiffened, expecting Croaker. 

"In here," Pansy called back. "I'm fine. I've got her! I've got you," she repeated in a softer tone. "And I'm never letting you go. Never again." 

A young man joined them a moment later, not Croaker, to Poppy's everlasting relief. 

"Poppy," he said gently. "I'm Neville. We're going to get you out of here, okay?" 

Poppy nodded. There was something about his eyes and the gentle tones in which he spoke that told her he could be trusted. But there was also something about the way Pansy looked at him. 

"Is he your boyfriend?" she asked, staring over Neville's shoulder at her sister, who walked behind them with her wand out as Neville carried her down the hall. 

"Yes," Pansy said, flushing crimson. 

"This is yours by the way," Pansy said, levitating a silver necklace with a single pearl over Poppy's head. 

"I thought I lost it," Poppy said, admiring the sheen of the pearl necklace in the sunlight as they left the facility. 

"Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end," a voice said quietly from behind them. 

"Luna!" Neville exclaimed. "You came!" 

"I didn't know you were an Auror as well," Pansy commented with some surprise. 

"Oh I'm not anymore," Luna shrugged, slipping her wand behind her ear. "I'm their superior," she said, indicating Harry and Ron, who had accompanied her. 

"We'll get the others out," Harry promised. "I've already contacted St Mungo's. There are Healers on standby." 

"Umbridge and her assistant are both restrained," Neville informed them. "But there are probably a dozen people in there that need medical attention." 

"Plus one more," Luna said, indicating the child in Neville's arms. "Your little sister?" she guessed, glancing at Pansy. "You have the same nose," she added, a giggle escaping Poppy as Luna gently touched her nose with a wink. 

"Best get her home," Ron said with unusual gentleness. "We can send a Healer your way once we're finished here." 

"Thanks," Neville said gratefully, linking one arm with Pansy's as he supported Poppy's weight with the other. "See you soon," he promised as the small team of Aurors gave him a wave and entered the facility. Neville, Pansy and Poppy disapparated with a _crack._

Poppy Parkinson breathed a sigh of relief as she was carried into Neville's flat. A small place it might be, but it was paradise compared to the hell she'd left behind. She was home at last. 


	23. The Pensieve

Poppy was home, but if the grim expression of Healer Greengrass was anything to go by, her recovery was likely to be long and arduous, if she ever truly recovered at all. Umbridge and Croaker had helpfully kept records of the various _treatments_ used on patients. It was Poppy's record Healer Greengrass was reading with an expression of mingled disgust and horror. 

"Silver nitrate injections, surgical implantation of moonstones, blood letting, magical draining twice daily, compounded aconite and moon dew elixir, bloodroot salve applied to incisions to kill animal cells, Gillyweed therapy - testing the effect of oxygen deprivation on a lycanthrope, that's just _suffocation!"_ Healer Greengrass exclaimed furiously. "These people are idiots, _idiots!"_ she complained to Neville. "I'd throw them to the Dementors and leave them there forever if I had my way!" 

"Dementors have been outlawed here since 1998," Neville reminded her. 

"So?" Healer Greengrass said, the fierce look in her eyes reminding Neville of his gran on a bad day. "There are plenty of things that aren't outlawed! Leaving them locked in a cupboard with a Boggart, for example. Or feeding them to a horde of Acromantula!" 

Neville fought the grin that surfaced. He liked Healer Greengrass. Harry was a lucky man, having Daphne as his other half. He didn't doubt she would call Harry out when he crossed a line. 

"So, what can we do for Poppy?" he asked anxiously. 

Healer Greengrass sighed heavily. 

"There are potions I can prescribe to reverse some of the damage, some stargrass salve and dittany to minimise the scarring, the moonstones will have to be surgically removed, and she desperately needs a nutrition draught, she's quite underweight for a child her age," Healer Greengrass summarised as Neville noted down every word she said. "But the trauma and psychological damage is what I'm really worried about. She's been kept prisoner and tortured for four years, Neville. She's an eleven-year-old child and she's been through more than any grown witch or wizard. I'll write you a referral for a mind healer, that's somewhere to start at least." 

"What can Pansy and I do?" Neville asked. 

"Just what you are doing," Healer Greengrass said with a small smile. "Love her, be gentle with her, if she wants to talk about it, listen, but don't try to make her talk if she'd rather not. Give her time to reconnect with her family, Pansy especially, they seem to have a very special bond. But she absolutely should not have any stress or exertion. She's been through such an ordeal and she is _fragile._ She shouldn't be forced into anything, let her choose, let her have the freedom she hasn't had for so long. It may be that she doesn't want to be alone or apart from Pansy. If that's the case, let her be as close to Pansy as she needs to be. If she needs to sleep in the same room as her to feel safe, let her. I'll prescribe a Dreamless Sleep potion to get her through some of the rougher nights, but it's highly addictive, so I would just caution you against giving it to her too often. I don't want her to become dependent on it, she needs to process things and develop coping mechanisms to heal naturally as well." 

Neville nodded. 

"She won't be alone. I'm here most days in my garden on the rooftop. I'm an apothecary supplier," he explained. "But Pansy works quite long hours some days, so I'm not sure--" 

"Pansy quit," Pansy announced with a smirk as she entered the room. 

"You what?" Neville said, taken aback. 

"I think someone said something to me about _good changes_ at one point," Pansy said smugly. "I'm going to be here for my sister, whatever it takes. Looks like you're stuck with me," she whispered to Neville. 

"I knew what I was getting into," he said with a grin. 

"Anyway, I sent a letter an hour ago. I've officially resigned," Pansy said happily. 

"Congratulations," Healer Greengrass said with a warm smile. "It seems Poppy has all the home support she needs, so I'll leave you with a list of prescriptions, and be back to check on her in a few days." 

"Say hello to Harry for us," Neville said, escorting the Healer to the fireplace so she could Floo back to St Mungo's. 

"I will," Daphne promised. "Maybe we can double date sometime," she said with a grin. 

"I'd like that," Neville said warmly. 

"Take good care of my patient," Daphne ordered as she stepped into the fireplace. "St Mungo's!" she cried, disappearing in a whirl of green flames. 

Neville watched her go with a smile. Poppy was in good hands. 

* * *

Poppy was dozing peacefully on the sofa in Neville's living room. The sunlight streamed through the window and the cool breeze filled the air with a pleasant smell of frangipani and pine. There was no screaming here, no crying, no harsh light, and no pain. Healer Greengrass had given her an assortment of potions, one of them was supposed to help with the pain. It had diminished in sharpness at least. Now the pain was more of a vague discomfort that she was aware of rather than a constant throbbing. Discomfort she could live with. 

She had her sister back and Neville was very nice. He had promised to take her on a short walk through his rooftop garden later to show her all the things he was growing. It had been so long since she had seen flowers or felt the sun on her skin. Pansy had conjured a bathtub (despite Neville's objections that there wasn't room for one in his flat) and gently removed the dried blood and dirt from her skin. Poppy's hair had been so matted, knotted and tangled though that Pansy had ended up taking the kitchen scissors and cutting her hair to a short bob. She had offered to use a lengthening charm on it, but Poppy refused. She liked her hair like this. It was light and silky and it reminded her a little of Pansy's old hairstyle. She wanted to be like her sister. Pansy was strong. With time, Poppy would be strong again too. 

A knock sounded at the front door and Poppy raised her head sleepily. She was so warm and comfortable. No wonder kneazles liked to lay in the sun. She wondered if Pansy would let her get a kneazle for a pet. Maybe Neville would, it was his flat after all. 

She became aware of raised voices, indicating an argument at the front door. One of them was very familiar, though she hadn't heard it in quite some time. 

"I know she's here. I want to see my daughter," a man was saying loudly and insistently. _Daddy,_ Poppy realised, recognising the voice. 

"Which one?" Neville asked cooly. 

"Poppy," Mr Parkinson spat. "Bring her out here now or I'll have you charged with kidnapping. I'll sue you, the Malfoys, the Ministry, anyone who had a hand in it!" 

"If you want to know who caused Poppy's suffering or had a hand in it, you might try looking at the end of your own arm," Neville said calmly.

"Don't test me, Longbottom, you'll wind up the same way as your useless parents," Mr Parkinson said nastily. 

Poppy had heard enough. 

"Daddy!" she said sharply. "You can't talk to Neville like that, he's my friend." 

"Poppy," Mr Parkinson said, his voice immediately softening to resemble the sweetness of poisoned honey. "Come here, pet. I'm so sorry for everything you've been through. But if you come home with me now, I promise I'll make it up to you. You can have anything you want." 

Poppy started forward, then paused, thinking hard. 

"You'll just give me away again," she mumbled through trembling lips. 

"What?" Mr Parkinson said. 

"You gave me up to that-- to Delores. You wanted her to _fix me_ ," she said accusingly. 

"Poppy, pet, you're confused," Mr Parkinson said. 

" _You're_ confused," Poppy said stubbornly, tears welling in her eyes. "You didn't want me. I'm a monster, remember? Well, I still am. She couldn't fix me. I'm still a _werewolf."_

"You're my daughter," Mr Parkinson said placatingly. 

"No, you said you didn't want a monster for a daughter," Poppy said, tears now coursing down her cheeks. 

"I never said that," Mr Parkinson said, shaking his head. 

"You did. I heard you telling Mum the night before you gave me to Delores to fix!" Poppy said, her voice rising as the ceramic pot hanging next to the front door shattered, sending a cascade of soil over Mr Parkinson's expensive shoes. 

He looked down at his shoes with disgust. 

"Your sister has done a very good job on you, Poppy. I'll be back with the Aurors and a pair of handcuffs, Longbottom," he said threateningly, turning to leave. 

"Fine," Neville said calmly. "But you should know, Pansy and I have a signed Wizengamot order from Justice Granger, granting us temporary custody of Poppy. So there are no laws being broken here and your threats are meaningless." 

"We'll see," Mr Parkinson said angrily as Neville shut the door in his face. 

"Are you alright?" Neville asked. 

"I think I need some hot cocoa," Poppy said quietly, brushing the tears from her cheeks. 

"With extra marshmallows?" Neville offered. 

Poppy nodded and put her small hand in his, letting Neville escort her to the kitchen. She climbed up on a stool to watch as Neville got two mugs out of the cupboard. 

The front door opened again and Poppy turned her head quickly, dreading her dad's reappearance. But it was only Pansy, carrying a heavy basin and accompanied by a small house elf who had eyes almost as blue as Poppy's. 

"Am I hallucinating or did I just see my father on his way out?" Pansy asked with raised eyebrows, setting the heavy basin down. 

"Yep, that was him," Neville said grimly, setting a mug of hot cocoa, topped with extra marshmallows in front of Poppy. 

"What did he want?" Pansy asked, looking from Poppy's tear-stained face to Neville's worried frown. 

"Poppy or else," Neville said with a shrug. 

"Figures," Pansy sighed. "You both okay?" 

"We'll live," Poppy said dramatically, as Pansy suppressed a smile. 

"What's with the house elf?" Neville asked, eyeing the small creature. 

"Mrs Malfoy insisted," Pansy said, snagging Neville's cup of hot cocoa and sipping at it. "Her way of helping, I suppose. But I got the Pensieve, that was all I wanted anyway." 

"What are you going to use it for?" Poppy asked her sister. 

"The elf or the Pensieve?" Pansy asked with a grin. 

"Both," Poppy said, stealing the marshmallows from the cup Pansy held. 

"The elf is for you," Pansy said. "Mrs Malfoy is loaning her to us to keep you company for a while and help get potions for you and change bandages and anything else you need." 

"What's her name?" Poppy asked, studying the little elf's face. 

"Sassy, Miss Poppy," the elf said with a graceful curtsey. 

"Can I have some more marshmallows, Sassy?" Poppy asked with a grin. 

The elf snapped her fingers, filling Poppy's cup to the brim with soft pink and white marshmallows. 

"I like you, Sassy. She can stay," Poppy informed her sister with her mouth full of marshmallows. 

"Good to know," Pansy said, shaking her head. 

"So what are we doing with the Pensieve?" Neville asked. 

"Well, Poppy has been through a lot. We all have," Pansy said with a sad little smile. "So I've collected a few happy memories for her to enjoy and to catch _you_ up on some … special moments of mine," Pansy said hesitantly. 

"Sounds great," Neville murmured, squeezing Pansy's hand. "When were you wanting to do that?"

"After dinner, and potions and baths and when teeth are brushed," Sassy said firmly. 

"What?" Neville said, certain he hadn't just heard an elf give witches and a wizard orders. 

"Problem, Mister Neville?" Sassy asked as Pansy smirked. 

"It's fine, Neville. Mrs Malfoy told me Sassy can be a bit--" 

" … a bit of a devious, conniving, manipulative, con-artist. And highly recommended of course," the elf summarised. 

"Exactly," Pansy said with a laugh. "So Sassy and I will get dinner on and after Poppy has had her potions and her bath and brushed her teeth, we'll try out the Pensieve, okay?" 

"Okay," Neville said uncertainly. "What are we having for dinner?" 

"Miss Poppy's favourite of course," Sassy said firmly. 

"What's that?" Neville asked. 

"Apricot Chicken!" Poppy exclaimed happily. 

"Oh good _Godric,"_ Neville said with a groan. "You _paid_ her to say that," he said to Pansy. 

"I did no such thing," Pansy grinned. 

"Don't you like Apricot Chicken, Neville?" Poppy asked with a little pout. 

"I do, very much," Neville said with a warm smile for Poppy and a suspicious glare for Pansy. 

"Relax, Neville," Pansy said soothingly. "I promise no puking pastilles… _this time."_

* * *

Sassy and Pansy's efforts managed to produce a flawless Apricot Chicken, and after Poppy's potions and bath had been had, Sassy oversaw her teeth brushing routine while Pansy and Neville set up the Pensieve in the living room.

"Are you sure about this?" Neville asked. 

"Of course," Pansy shrugged. "Why?" 

Neville paused, struggling for the right words. 

"You're a very private person, Pansy," he managed finally. "I don't want to intrude. If you want it to just be you and Poppy, I'd understa--" 

Pansy halted his grand speech with a kiss to his lips. 

"Neville," she said slowly and carefully. "I _want_ to share this with you. If I didn't, you'd be sitting in the hallway by yourself." 

"Understood, ma'am," he said meekly. 

"And don't call me ma'am," Pansy said warningly. 

"All done," Sassy announced, entering the room with Poppy, who was wrapped in a fluffy yellow bathrobe. 

"That's a very bright colour," Neville observed. 

"Sassy changed it for me," Poppy said proudly. "I _hate_ pink." 

"Fair enough," Neville said with a nod. 

"Are we ready then?" Pansy asked. 

Poppy nodded and gave one of her hands each to Pansy and Neville, standing between them as they all leaned forward, their noses touching the shimmering surface of the basin as they tumbled headlong into a world of happy memories. 

First, there was a litter of tabby kneazle kittens of all colours. The memory versions of a young Pansy and Poppy were cuddling them as the kittens gambolled about. 

Poppy tugged at Neville's sleeve to get his attention. 

"We kept that one," she said, pointing out a sweet grey tabby with gold eyes. "Daddy took the rest to the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley. But we named him George because--" 

Pansy shook her head violently at her sister, seeming to be trying to convey a message of _no, don't tell._ But Poppy kept going. 

"... Because Pansy had a crush on a boy at school called George! _George Weasley!"_ she exclaimed, lapsing into a fit of giggles as Pansy flushed with embarrassment. 

"Really?" Neville said with great interest, his face lighting up with possibly the biggest smile he had ever worn. "George Weasley? You don't say…" 

"She sulked when he didn't ask her to Hogsmeade for Valentine's in sixth year. _You did!"_ she exclaimed when Pansy shook her head in denial. "Millie wrote and told me that you wouldn't come out and all you'd eaten for a week was chocolate frogs!" 

"Alright, that's enough about that," Pansy said, shushing her little sister as the next memory formed around them. 

The second memory was achingly familiar. It was one Neville had only ever seen echoed in paint. Twin cedar trees and two sisters sitting beneath them in a little clearing dotted with wildflowers. A young Pansy, hair cut short, was reading the Wind in the Willows aloud. A golden haired Poppy was moving quietly here and there, collecting flowers to weave into daisy chains and crowning her sister with one of her creations. 

"Your hair was so different," Poppy said, studying the short bob of memory-Pansy. 

"Yours was too," Pansy said wistfully, glancing from the long golden curls of memory-Poppy to the silver-white hair of her newly returned sister. The colour wasn't all that had been stripped from her, much of her innocence and trust had too, Pansy reflected. 

"Don't be sad," Poppy said, noting her sister's expression. "It was a good day." 

"It was," Pansy agreed as the memory changed again.

This time, they were sitting in a private dining room inside the Leaky Cauldron. Neville was a bit startled. Was this the night of their first date? 

Poppy seemed to be thinking along the same lines, watching the memory version of her sister holding hands with the memory version of Neville. 

"Did you kiss?" she asked suddenly, looking between them. 

"Yes," Pansy admitted as Poppy lapsed into giggles again and danced around them. 

"Pansy and Neville sitting in a tree," Poppy said in a singsong voice. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G…" 

Pansy watched her sister's antics with a smile. She knew now that this memory within a memory was one of her favourite memories of all. Neville by her side, Poppy teasing and carefree, it was as close to perfect as her life would ever be. 


	24. A Pack Of Pets

"Where are you off to?" Pansy asked absently, turning a page of the _Daily Prophet_ and sipping her tea at the same time.

Neville had swapped his usual casual attire for formal dress-robes today and was fidgeting nervously, mumbling to himself. 

"The Ministry," Neville replied distractedly. 

"Really? I hear the Department of Magical Transportation is hiring," Pansy said teasingly, adjusting Neville's collar for him. 

"Now, if _you_ didn't like your job, what makes you think I would?" Neville said, raising his eyebrows at her. 

"Maybe you're looking for a challenge. Gardening is terribly easy," Pansy said cheekily. 

"Says the witch who killed a plant in two days," Neville muttered under his breath. 

"You killed one of Neville's plants?" Poppy piped up from the breakfast bar, where Sassy was serving her a breakfast of blueberries and oatmeal. 

"It wasn't Neville's, it was mine," Pansy said with a grin. 

"Don't worry, Neville, I won't let her touch your plants while you're out," Poppy promised with a very serious expression. 

"Thank you, Poppy. I really appreciate that," Neville said, flashing her a grin. "Are you still expecting visitors today?" he added, directing his question to Pansy. 

"Yes, we are," Pansy replied. "Your gran is going to pop by for morning tea and I think Daphne will be joining us and checking up on Poppy's recovery as well." 

"Sounds like fun," Neville said. "I've really got to go," he added with a sigh. 

"Go on then, I'll save you some carrot cake. Your gran insisted she couldn't show up empty handed," Pansy said with a laugh. 

"Carrot cake?" Neville repeated. "With the walnuts and real cream cheese frosting?" 

Pansy nodded. 

"Damn it. _Save me some,"_ Neville pleaded. 

"No promises," Pansy said with a wink. "Good luck with Kingsley's Werewolf 101," she said with a smirk. 

Neville left the house with a groan. He knew where he'd rather be - having tea and carrot cake with the Parkinson sisters. But this was important too. 

He arrived at the Ministry a few minutes early and made his way from the Atrium to Level One for his meeting with the Minister. 

He waited anxiously outside Kingsley's office for more than fifteen minutes, listening to a secretary's quill scratch away at a piece of parchment. 

"Mr Longbottom?" 

Neville's head jerked up. 

"The Minister will see you now," the secretary said, waving him towards Kingsley's office door. 

Neville nodded his thanks and let himself into the office. 

"Ah, Neville, come in," Kingsley said, waving him to a seat in the already crowded office. 

Neville glanced around at the crowd of people. Theo, Hermione and Draco stood off to one side, while seated on the other side of the office were four Healers, recognisable by their lime green robes, and an assortment of scarred witches and wizards seated in three rows, many of them sporting partially healed wounds and bandages - the surviving victims of Delores' and Croaker's failed lycanthropy experiments. 

In the front row was Florean Fortescue, beside him, ten-year-old Connor Montgomery, Octavius Pepper and Ted Tonks. 

In the second row was Dirk Cresswell, Fred Weasley, and Lavender Brown. 

And right at the back, looking as though he wished he was anywhere but here, was Severus Snape, seated beside Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Astoria Greengrass. 

On seeing Astoria, Neville immediately understood Daphne's outrage. It wasn't just that of a Healer, it was that of a big sister. Daphne had gone through almost the exact same thing as Pansy. 

"How is Miss Parkinson?" Kingsley asked. 

"Poppy? She's recovering at home. Doing well, I think," Neville said with a forced smile. 

"Glad to hear it," Kingsley said. "Now to business, if you don't mind. As we've been discussing, Mr Longbottom, obviously each of these individuals, who have so kindly agreed to attend this meeting today, have suffered terrible atrocities at the hands of Madam Umbridge and Mr Croaker, neither of which are in any way affiliated with the Ministry." 

"What a great comfort, Shacklebolt," Severus said sarcastically. "We've all lived through hell, but the precious Ministry's arse is saved as usual." 

"No-one is denying you your legal right to sue the individuals responsible or see justice done, Severus," Kingsley said quietly. "But that is not what we're here to discuss, I merely wished to point that out." 

Severus gave a slight nod of his head, but his look of mistrust did not diminish in the slightest, as Kingsley continued to address the group. 

"What I wish to discuss is the attitude of the wizarding community towards werewolves, which as I'm sure you all know, are not looked upon favourably." 

"You don't have to tell me," Remus said quietly, as Tonks gave his hand a comforting squeeze. 

"Justice Granger and myself are working with a team of legislators to draft a Werewolf Protection Act which would grant you the same rights as wizards to employment opportunities, housing, medical care, education - all the rights werewolves have been denied for centuries," Kingsley summarised. "But it will take time for new protection laws to be voted on, passed and implemented." 

"So what are we supposed to do in the meantime while we're not allowed to work?" Dirk Cresswell interrupted. 

"And what about our kids, Kingsley?" Tonks put in. "Those stupid laws are archaic! Remus and I aren't even allowed to raise our son because of our _werewolf status._ All we get is a supervised visit every second weekend. I want my son!" 

"I will do everything I can to get Teddy back to you," Kingsley promised. "But _for now,_ let's solve one problem at a time. First, many of you are without the necessary protections that would keep your families and the community safe on a full moon. Neville has kindly offered the use of Longbottom Keep, the largest property of his family's estate for your use on full moons and any other day of the month that you need it." 

Neville fought the embarrassing blush that rose in his cheeks at being singled out and praised in front of everyone. He tried not to look too proud of himself, he was just doing what anyone would do, what _Pansy_ would do. 

"Theo here will be setting up lunar wards which will keep any transformed lycanthrope from leaving the property _only_ on a full moon," Kingsley continued. "Any other day, you're free to come and go as you please. But that will keep the community safe and your families safe. _Secondly,"_ he said, when Lavender Brown looked like interrupting, "Longbottom Keep has a large greenhouse which can easily supply the ingredients for the Wolfsbane Potion for _free._ Draco is an accomplished Potions Master and he has offered to make the Wolfsbane Potion and supply it to all of you monthly, also for _free_." 

Neville looked at Draco with some surprise, but Malfoy merely shrugged, maintaining his usual haughty composure. 

"In the meantime, we will work on getting this Werewolf Protection Act passed," Kingsley promised. "We are doing everything we can to make things right and I am more sorry than I can say for the abuses you have all suffered. If you have any questions, Hermione, Neville, Draco, Theo and myself will attempt to answer them." 

The discussion carried on for several hours, but at the end of it, Neville was quietly pleased and proud of the progress they'd made. There would be justice for the werewolves in time, but for now, they would be protected and given a measure of control over their monthly transformations with the Wolfsbane Potion. He wondered what his parents would say at the idea of letting a pack of werewolves loose on the grounds of Longbottom Keep. 

* * *

"So, how did it go?" Pansy asked when Neville finally got home. 

"It was intense," Neville said honestly. "But I think they were all relieved that they wouldn't be left alone to figure things out. Some of them have been dealing with werewolf prejudice for a long time," he said quietly, thinking of Remus. 

"It will get better," Pansy promised, pulling him into a comforting hug. 

"How were things with Gran and Daphne?" Neville asked. 

"Good," Pansy said, leading him into the kitchen for a nice cup of tea. "Poppy is healing well and your Gran ended up taking her over to see the next door neighbour. Their cat had a litter of kittens a couple of months ago apparently." 

There was a _meow_ from the floor and Neville looked down, spotting a pair of gleaming yellow eyes. 

"Pansy," he said slowly as three more kittens appeared, rubbing against Neville's ankles and purring. 

"About that," Pansy said with a grin. "Poppy got kind of attached…" 

"Salazar! There you are!" Poppy exclaimed brightly, scooping up a fluffy black kitten with green eyes. "Hi Neville," she said, continuing to stroke the kitten. 

"Hi," Neville said distractedly. 

"Say hello to Salazar!" Poppy said, presenting the kitten to Neville to pet. 

"Salazar?" he repeated uncertainly. 

"And Helga, Rowena and Godric," Poppy said proudly. "Sassy helped me name them." 

"She did?" Neville said, giving Salazar's chin a gentle scratch.

"Yep, those are the names of the Founders. I'm going to start Hogwarts next year. Your Gran is going to talk to Professor McGonagall for me. We're going to do a course by corre-- corres-- by _letters,_ so I can catch up," Poppy declared. 

"That's fantastic, Poppy," Neville said proudly. "He's quite sweet," he added, as Salazar nuzzled against him. 

"He likes you," Poppy informed him. "Can we keep them, Neville? Pansy said I had to ask first." 

"Well, that's very polite," Neville said slowly, though he didn't miss the fact that Pansy had let him see the kittens with Poppy first to make it harder to refuse. "I don't see why not," Neville shrugged, he supposed he could be a cat-person if it made Poppy happy. 

"I _told_ you he wouldn't say no," Poppy said smugly to her sister. "Thank you, Neville! I'll take really good care of them, I promise!" she declared. 

Pansy gave Neville a knowing smile and slid a hot cup of tea in front of him, along with a large slice of carrot cake. Neville couldn't help smiling and shaking his head as he tried the cake and answered Pansy's questions about the meeting with the other werewolves, all while listening to Poppy's exclamations of delight over the new kittens. He was the luckiest wizard in the world to count himself part of the unique little family they had started to build for themselves. 


	25. Puddles

It had been storming all day. Neville looked grimly at what little of his garden he could see from the doorway that opened onto the roof. He wished he'd thought to put some of his plants in the greenhouse to shelter them from the wind and torrential rain. Already some of their little branches were bent and broken from the forces nature had decided to unleash today. He would have to see about repairing the damage tomorrow perhaps, once the storm had cleared up. 

He did have two dozen baby mimbulus mimbletonias sitting safely in potting trays in the greenhouse though. But he'd been too tired from tending to them all to bother with the rest of his plants. He regretted it now, watching his poor plants suffer a savage beating from the weather. 

One upside of the storm was that Pansy had finally fallen asleep to the sound of the rain. She had not managed a wink of sleep last night, but had stayed up all night comforting Poppy through the aftermath of a horrible nightmare. Poppy had been so panicked by the dream itself that Pansy had wound up giving her a Calming Draught. Both Parkinson's were somewhat calmer now, with Pansy dozing on the sofa in the living room and Poppy giving the kittens a bath in the laundry tub. 

Neville decided to quit obsessing over his rain-beaten garden and went in search of a cup of tea, walking past the laundry just in time to hear an exclamation of frustration from Poppy. 

" _Mother of fucking Merlin!"_

"Poppy," Neville said, stopping in the doorway. "That's a very bad word." 

"Which one?" Poppy asked absently, trying to hold on to a soapy and squirming Helga.

"Uh-- I'm not saying it," Neville said, seeing a very Slytherin smile cross the little girl's face. 

"Fucking?" Poppy repeated innocently. "Pansy says it." 

"Well, Pansy shouldn't," Neville said, trying not to smile. "It's not very ladylike to use that word. And gentlemen shouldn't say it either," he added, trying to avoid setting a double standard. 

"Okay, Neville. I won't say it again," Poppy promised, though that promise was broken a full three seconds later as Helga shot from between Poppy's hands and hit the floor at a run, slipping and sliding in puddles of water, and leaving a trail of wet paw prints as she hightailed it out the door. " _Fuck!"_ Poppy exclaimed. "Sorry," she added. "Just _catch her quick!_ I promised Sassy I wouldn't make a mess."

Neville darted quickly after Helga, but he hadn't made it more than a step or two before he slipped in the puddle of water the kitten had left behind, careening into the hallway and colliding with Pansy who had come to see what all the noise was about. 

Neville couldn't avoid her and they both went down in a heap, Neville pinning her to the floor with his body weight. His breath caught in his throat, it had been weeks since they'd been this close. Both had been trying to avoid too many physical displays of affection with Poppy around. And that hadn't changed as the little girl leaped over them with a laugh and raced after the sopping wet kitten. 

Neville rolled off Pansy and collapsed on his back with a groan. 

"You okay?" he asked. 

"Fine," Pansy said, elbowing him in the ribs. "Do you routinely tackle people in the hallway? Just so I know for future reference." 

"I only tackle the ones I like," Neville said with a laugh, standing up and then helping Pansy to her feet just as the doorbell rang. 

"I'll get it," Poppy volunteered. 

"Wait," Neville said, rushing to the front door, worried that Poppy might accidentally let Mr Parkinson in by mistake. 

On the other side of the door, however, was not Linden, but Calliope Parkinson, who was greeted by a soap sud covered Poppy, a frantic Neville pointing a wand in her face, and a wary Pansy whose hair was all over the place and looked as though she'd recently been flattened. 

"Mrs Parkinson," Neville said, lowering his wand and extending his hand. "Sorry, I was expecting--" 

"You were expecting my husband?" Calliope guessed. "You've no cause for alarm there, Mr Longbottom. Linden was arrested by the Aurors last night." 

"On what charges?" Pansy asked urgently.

"Daddy's in jail?" Poppy said, looking stunned. 

"Mr Longbottom, if I may intrude…" Calliope said hesitantly. 

"Yes, come in," Neville said immediately, waving her inside. 

"Thank you, we have a lot to discuss," Calliope declared, pulling the door shut behind her. 

Neville looked nervously at Pansy. Calliope's unexpected visit had an ominous air to it and neither knew what was coming...


	26. Raining Regrets

Rain. Rain was coming. It had come outside and created rivulets of water in the garden beds. And it was coming inside now, creating tear streaks on Poppy's cheeks. Pansy held up bravely though, not shedding a single tear, although her dark eyes glistened, threatening to release the angry tears she refused to let fall. 

Her father was the cause of it all. Anywhere she looked for pain in her life, it started and ended with Linden Parkinson. He hatched misery like an Acromantula hatched eggs. But this time, he'd been caught in his own trap. 

The list of charges was longer than Pansy's wand, each one of them well and truly justified. 

_ Aiding, abetting and encouraging the commission of illegal medical procedures on members of the magical community. _

_ Urging and inciting the commission of illegal medical procedures on members of the magical community.  _

_ Conspiring with a witch or wizard to commit criminal acts against members of the magical community.  _

_ Breach of the duty of care owed to a child under the age of sixteen years to prevent danger to the life, health, and safety of the child. _ He hadn't just allowed Poppy to be mutilated by Umbridge and Croaker - he'd  _ ordered  _ it and signed off on every twisted experiment that had been used on her. 

_ Unlawful instigation of serious harm to members of the magical community.  _

_ Unlawful instigation of assaults committed on members of the magical community through the act of experimental medical procedures performed without consent.  _

_ Unlawful instigation of deprivation of liberty of members of the magical community.  _

The list of charges seemed to go on and on. Pansy had come to one conclusion by the end of it - Linden Parkinson was well and truly screwed, and he wasn't the only one. 

Calliope Parkinson had been complicit in her husband's actions towards members of the magical community. As a group, werewolves didn't yet have equal status with witches and wizards, but as magical citizens and members of the community (however despised), they had certain rights under wizarding law. Rights which Linden had ordered and paid Umbridge and Croaker to violate. 

Fortunately, Calliope had been able to make a deal with the Auror Office and Wizengamot Prosecutor: immunity from being implicated in any offence committed by Umbridge, Croaker, and Linden, in exchange for serving her husband up to the Aurors on a platter, and serve she had.

The evidence Calliope had passed the Aurors had been damning: Floo recordings of Linden giving orders and new treatment courses to Umbridge, files of werewolf research Linden had compiled from all around the world, photographs of Linden entering and leaving the facility where the werewolves had been illegally kept against their will (fifty-seven visits to the site in four years), copies of handwritten instructions Linden had sent to both Umbridge and Croaker, documents Linden had signed authorising experimental treatments for werewolves, vault records from Gringotts bank detailing many thousands of Galleons in transfers to Croaker's vault for  _ services _ , and the testimonies of seven or eight werewolves, and Calliope herself, confirming Linden's supervisory role in the events that had unfolded at the facility over the course of four years. 

Most unfortunately, while Linden was in custody and awaiting trial, many of his associates were not. Scores of these were dangerous wizards, former Death Eaters all, and they had threatened Calliope numerous times in recent weeks for her betrayal of her husband, who was seen as a pillar of the magical community, especially among purebloods. They were too many and too smart, evading the detection of the Aurors, and never leaving a trace of evidence, only leaving mere whisperings of malice and ill intent in their wake. Breaths on the wind were not easy to apprehend. 

So Calliope had deemed it necessary to leave Wizarding Britain for her own safety, at least for the time being. Two objections remained, anchoring her to British soil for the present: Pansy and Poppy. 

"You're just going to run away?" Pansy said disbelievingly. 

"There is too much risk if I stay," Calliope replied. 

"What about me and Pansy?" Poppy objected. "What if they try to hurt us instead?" 

"You're not testifying against your father. They would have nothing to gain by attacking you," Calliope said soothingly. "And anyway, you've got Neville here to protect you, haven't you?" 

When Poppy nodded, Calliope continued, stroking her little girl's soft, silvery ringlets tenderly. 

"You've been through so much, Poppy, and if I'd been braver or spoken up sooner, maybe I-- maybe's are a waste of time though," Calliope reminded herself, steadying her tone. "What I mean is that you've suffered a lot and you should never have had to. I won't make you suffer more or hurt Pansy by dragging you along with me or taking you away from her," she promised. 

Pansy looked stunned by her mother's thoughtfulness but didn't interrupt, merely turning her tear-filled eyes to Neville, who squeezed her hand reassuringly. 

"This is a document for living arrangements for you, Poppy," she said, passing the document to Neville. "Wherever I am, I'll always be your mother, but this document means that you would stay here with Pansy and Neville and they'll take care of you while I'm gone. I've included instructions for your education too. Another Hogwarts letter is coming soon - you can start next year when you're better. You'll be a year older than the other first years, but it's better than never having the chance to go," she said tearfully. "And I've set up a vault that Pansy can use to pay for school or any specialists you need for your recovery or food or clothes or even a broomstick, whatever either of you need. Pansy and Neville," she said, glancing at them. "You just need to sign the document and submit it to Wizengamot Administration Services - they'll formally lodge it for you and Justice Granger will see that you're granted an order for custody of Poppy until she's of age or if-- _ when  _ I come back, we can discuss future arrangements." 

Neville nodded and Pansy's control finally faltered, clinging to her mother and flinging her arms around her neck with a sob. 

Calliope patted her awkwardly on the back, wishing she was better at the emotional support her daughters needed. 

She brushed two trembling teardrops from Pansy's eyes and smiled faintly. 

"It's not forever," Calliope said, though her eyes betrayed her own doubt. "I have to do what's best for Poppy and for you. This has to be about what you need, not about what I want. You need each other more than you need me. You're strong," she said proudly. "You always have been. Better, braver then me. Don't let her change," she added to Neville. 

"I'll do my best," Neville said with a half-laugh, drawing Pansy to his side and resting a comforting hand on Poppy's curly head. 

Calliope smiled looking at them. They were their own little family. A better family than she and Linden had ever been to Pansy or Poppy. 

"Look after them," she whispered to Neville as she hugged her daughters goodbye. 

"I won't let anything happen to them," he said quietly in reply. 

Calliope nodded, leaving before she could change her mind. Her daughters were safe and happy. That was more than she had any right to ask. She would get back to them, she promised herself that as an international portkey carried her away to a new life, far away from Linden Parkinson and his twisted schemes. 


	27. Christmas Ribbon

Life had settled into a comfortable routine for Neville and Pansy. Every morning, Sassy would see that Poppy's potions were had and made sure the little girl was bathed and dressed before breakfast. After breakfast, Neville would take Poppy up into the rooftop garden for an hour and teach her everything he knew about Herbology and Botany while she peppered him with questions about which plants liked sun the most, and whether they felt the cold of the approaching winter season. She had a natural curiosity and playfulness about her which Neville delighted in, taking great pride in Poppy's recitation of the Latin names of plants, their origins, magical and muggle uses, and how to care for them. 

After a lunch of sandwiches, Pansy would tutor Poppy for an hour or so in English and French grammar, math, geography and art. Most were subjects missing from the Hogwarts curriculum that Pansy had studied with private tutors during her school years. During Poppy's hour of quiet reading, Pansy would work on her Hogwarts correspondence course. 

On Fridays, Neville and Pansy made the weekly trip to Diagon Alley - Neville to deliver harvested plants to Mr Mulpepper's apothecary and Pansy to Shutterbutton's Photography Studio to deliver her own artworks to Mr Shutterbutton who would sell them for her for a small fee. Meanwhile, Neville's gran would take over Poppy's tutoring for the day and educate her in the domestic arts of baking, needlework and most importantly, tea brewing. 

The fiesty old lady and the playful little girl had struck up a remarkably quick friendship. Poppy was quick to drop the formal title of _Mrs Longbottom_ in favour of calling the old lady _Gran,_ as Neville did. Augusta, for her part, took the little girl to her heart and lavished affection and praise on her, as the adopted granddaughter that had always been the dream of her heart. 

On this particular Friday, Neville and Pansy returned home with a long roll of red satin ribbon and a small pine tree in a bright yellow bucket. Christmas was only a few weeks away and it was impossible not to get into the spirit of the season with so many festive decorations displayed in Diagon Alley. 

Poppy was ecstatic and eagerly assisted her sister in dividing up the ribbon and tying it into little red bows for the tree, while Neville and Gran got the tea on and sliced a freshly baked cinnamon teacake (Poppy's project for the day) for afternoon tea. 

It was a merry group that gathered around the tree for afternoon tea, basking in the joy the decorated tree brought into their home. Pansy had enchanted it to glow with tiny gold lights that sparkled more than the richest gemstones. Though no sparkle could outshine the joy and wonder in Poppy's eyes. It was to be her first Christmas in over four years. 

But before that joyous occasion could be celebrated, there was one more hurdle to cross. One that Pansy in particular had been dreading. Poppy's health had improved slowly under the careful care of Neville and Pansy and the watchful eye of Sassy. Healer Greengrass judged that Poppy was now strong enough to undergo the surgery to remove the moonstones that had been implanted in her abdomen during one of Umbridge and Croaker's experiments. 

Come Monday morning, Poppy would undergo what would hopefully be the last medical procedure she ever had to endure. But this one would have several critical differences - it would be performed by a trained Healer in a hospital and its purpose would be to heal rather than hurt. 

The night before the surgery, Pansy couldn't sleep. After everything they had gone through to get Poppy back, what if something went wrong? What if she never woke up? Or worse, died on the operating table? What if--

"Wrackspurts keeping you up?" 

"What?" Pansy said in confusion, turning to face Neville's Gran, who sat at the table, nursing a cup of tea. 

"I read an article about them in _the Quibbler_ last week," Augusta shrugged. "No reliable sources listed of course, but anything's possible. The little buggers get right up in your brain and make all your thoughts go fuzzy." 

"I-- no. I don't think it's a Wrackspurt," Pansy said with a frown. 

"Your sister then?" Augusta guessed. 

Pansy bit her lip, but realising it was pointless to deny it, nodded. Augusta sighed sympathetically. 

"You're worried she won't come back to you, that something might go wrong?" she said shrewdly. 

"Is it that obvious?" Pansy asked, sliding into the seat opposite Augusta. 

"As plain as day," Augusta said, patting Pansy's hand. "Anyone can see how much you care about her, and how scared to death you are of losing her again. I was the same way after my son and daughter-in-law. Over protective. I had every reason, as do you. Neville nearly drowned once you know, went straight off the end of Blackpool Pier. I could have throttled his Uncle Algie right then and there… Neville wasn't breathing for so long, all clammy and cold and pale. It never even occurred to me that he could die, I was just worried about his brain being without oxygen for so long. I couldn't stand the idea that I'd lose him, that he'd wind up in a bed right next to Frank and Alice. I dreaded the idea of visiting three damaged Longbottoms on holidays instead of two. Two is quite bad enough, wouldn't you say?" 

Pansy nodded mutely. 

"Don't lose heart, Pansy, dear," Augusta said with another comforting pat. "There's no reason to think she won't be perfectly alright. She's strong. I always thought Neville to be hopelessly delicate and frail. I know now it's me that was frail and frightened. He's made of much stronger stuff than I gave him credit for, he just needed a chance to prove it. Give Poppy her chance too, she'll surprise you." 

"Thank you," Pansy managed finally, her throat suddenly dry. 

"Don't mention it, dear," Augusta said fondly. "Now, what say we sneak the last two pieces of teacake and then toddle off to bed, eh?" 

"That sounds good," Pansy said with a smile. 

Augusta was right, she realised, as she returned to her room. It did no good to worry ahead of time. Poppy had survived far worse. She would rise to meet this challenge too, and this time, she wouldn't be alone. 


	28. Flower Rings

She was in the clearing again. The air was heavy with the smell of summer, the sweet fragrance of wildflowers carried to her on the breeze. The long grass whispered to her, brushing against her hands and tugging at the light cotton dress she wore. Under the cedar trees, her sister was reading to her again, her sweet, low voice barely above a murmur. It was a story Poppy had heard many times, but she never tired of hearing it, and Pansy never tired of telling it. 

"Keep going, this is my favourite part," Poppy pleaded. 

"Poppy? Poppy, can you hear me?" Pansy sounded startled, maybe even a little frightened. 

Why did everything feel so heavy all of a sudden? Her limbs were like lead. The dream world flickered around her, turning hazy and distorted. She blinked, wincing at the warm golden light that suddenly flooded her vision. But if she squinted… Yes, it was Pansy, leaning over her. 

Poppy blinked slowly. Her eyes didn't want to wake up yet, they wanted to close their heavy lids and return to the dreamworld, to the sweet memory of a perfect day. 

"You're here," Poppy mumbled, not quite sure yet if this was still a dream or if if was real-world Pansy she was talking to. She reached out a hand for her sister. 

"Yes, I'm here, and Neville is too," Pansy promised, taking Poppy's hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "And look, see what Gran brought you." 

Poppy turned her head, fighting to keep her eyes open as her gaze fell upon a tall vase of wildflowers and the biggest basket of chocolate frogs she had ever seen. 

Neville's gentle hands helped her sit up, piling pillows behind her as Poppy reached for the wildflowers. Something pulled tight in her stomach as she moved to a sitting position, and then she remembered. 

"Did they get them out?" she asked, lifting the covers to check. 

"Every last one," Healer Greengrass announced, coming in to check on her patient. "You'll be running circles around these two in no time without any moonstones weighing you down." 

Poppy smiled, a slow sleepy smile, feeling the coarse stems of the wildflowers brush against her palms. 

_They were gone._ The last trace of Umbridge and Croaker had been removed. She felt like Poppy again. Like the Poppy that used to run through clearings collecting wildflowers and pinecones. Not the Poppy that was the broken monster that needed fixing. 

"How are you feeling?" Neville asked gently. "Does it hurt or--" 

"I feel… _good,"_ Poppy said, surprised to find she really meant it. A warm glow seemed to wash over her with Neville on one side and Pansy on the other and a pile of wildflowers in the middle. 

There was a faint prickling, a tingling in her fingers, the gentle nudge of her magic. Wildflowers floated above her head for a few moments, weaving themselves into delicate, circular rings. She crowned Neville with one, and Pansy, and Healer Greengrass, tucking a lone wildflower behind her own ear. 

Magic hadn't come so easily to her in such a long time, and she certainly hadn't been able to direct it into something as lovely and simple as a ring of flowers. Her magic had been as fractured and raw as she was - it had been all ferocity and fire and destruction. 

She had come full circle, back to the Poppy who danced in clearings with blossoms in her hair. She was free of the torture, free of the pain. Now she was just Poppy, Poppy with the sister she loved, and Neville and Gran too, Poppy with the rings of flowers and the feeling that everything was going to be alright after all, after everything. 

* * *

"I think she's really going to be okay," Pansy said with a smile. Poppy would be coming home in the morning, and the relief was palpable. 

"I knew she would be," Neville said quietly, drinking in the sight of a relaxed Pansy, complete with flower crown. 

"Well, I didn't," Pansy admitted. "I would've been a pathetic, panicking mess without you here." 

"That's where I always want to be," Neville said softly. 

"With a pathetic, panicking mess?" Pansy said teasingly. 

"No, well, _yes_ , if you needed me to be," Neville said thoughtfully. "But I meant, _here_ , by your side, getting through this and anything else together." 

"You're turning into a sap, Neville," Pansy said with a smirk. 

"Well, I don't know what you expected from someone who tends plants for a living," Neville countered with a laugh, removing a single flower from the ring that Poppy had crowned him with. "But I do promise you this," he said, waving his wand over the flower. "I will be by your side even if you're a pathetic, panicking mess and I'll be a complete and utter sap while doing so," he added, sliding a knotted, flower-ring onto her finger. 

"You promise?" Pansy murmured, looking into his eyes. 

"I promise," Neville agreed, melting into the sweet bliss of Pansy's lips. It was a promise gladly given, and a promise that he would never break, on his honour as a Longbottom. 


	29. Sage Green

Poppy's recovery from her abdominal surgery seemed rapid in comparison to the weeks preceding it when she had been rescued from Umbridge and Croaker. But a day was marked on the calendar that was causing Pansy and Neville significant anxiety. Friday the twentieth was to be a full moon, just a few days before Christmas. 

True to his word, Draco had kept the rescued werewolves well supplied with Wolfsbane Potion made from ingredients collected from the large greenhouse at Longbottom Keep. A number of werewolves had chosen to reside at the Keep longterm, with Neville's blessing. Some didn't have homes or families left to go to and others continued to suffer anti-werewolf discrimination from the wizarding community. The Keep was the safest place for them and Neville did not begrudge them the use of it. He hadn't lived there since he was a very small child, but had lived instead at Longbottom Lodge with his grandmother. Augusta refused to set foot in the Keep, it being the place where her son and daughter in law had been tortured into insanity by Death Eaters. But while the Keep had once failed to protect Alice and Frank, it could now shelter others. 

Poppy was taking the Wolfsbane Potion daily, though it in no way reduced the anxiety her little family felt for her. Gone was the bright, playful little girl with boundless energy, and in her place was pre-moon Poppy, who suffered aching bones and joints, bouts of nausea, little to no appetite, deep fatigue, and persistent headaches, accompanied by anxiety, insomnia and irritability. She had taken to lying on the living room sofa in a hazy sort of exhaustion, her kittens keeping her company while Pansy and Neville hovered and fretted over her condition. 

Two days before the moon, Neville had tired of watching her endless listlessness and lethargy and determined to do something about it, consulting Auntie Enid's trusted recipe book and enlisting Pansy to help him, as the last thing Poppy needed right now was a failed meal and food poisoning. 

They settled on a recipe for soup that was hailed as the cure-all to any ailment according to Auntie Enid's handwritten note. 

"Undeniably delicious," Pansy read doubtfully. 

"It tastes better than it looks," Neville said with a grin, watching the moving photograph of soup pouring itself into a bowl. 

"It's _green,"_ Pansy said, wrinkling her nose. "Like phlegm green."

" _Sage green,"_ Neville corrected her. "Let's just try it. What's the worst that can happen?" 

The worst was nearly two hours of kitchen labour to produce a thick, gluggy soup that didn't look sage green no matter what Neville did to it. 

"What _is_ that smell?" Poppy complained, coming to look. "It looks like snot." 

Neville couldn't bring himself to disagree. 

"I am not eating that," Poppy said resolutely. 

"Nobody is eating that," Pansy said, barely containing the laughter that threatened to burst free at the look on Neville's face as she vanished the horrible soup with a wave of her wand. "Don't quit your day job," she advised him. 

"I won't," Neville said ruefully. 

"Can Sassy cook dinner?" Poppy asked. "Not that I don't like your cooking, Neville, but, yeah…" 

"I'll take the night off," Neville said with a chuckle. "What do you feel like?"

"Steak," Poppy said after careful consideration. "Nice and bloody," she said, her eyes gleaming. 

"Oh sure, that's not gross, but my healthy soup is," Neville muttered to Pansy as Poppy wandered back into the living room to lie down. 

"Who's going to owl Auntie Enid this time and tell her what a success her recipes are?" Pansy said, breaking into a fit of giggles. 

"I did it last time," Neville complained. 

"Good, then you'll know exactly what to say this time," Pansy laughed. 

Neville shook his head but smiled, glad to find a lighthearted moment. The approaching moon was affecting all of them, and he doubted they would still be laughing in two days' time. 


	30. Shadows

The sun was setting over Longbottom Keep when Pansy and Neville arrived with Poppy. They had apparated to just outside the wards and now crossed them, Poppy giving a little whimper as they walked over the magical lines. When the moon rose in a little over an hour, Poppy and the others would transform. At that point, the wards would activate and prevent any transformed werewolf from leaving the grounds. All doors and windows to the large manor house were also warded to prevent the werewolves from gaining entry and wreaking havoc on the place. 

The rescued werewolves were assembled in the grounds already, while their families waited inside, safe behind the magical wards, but close enough that the lycanthropes could still sense them and know that they wouldn't suffer through the transformation alone. 

Fred, Astoria and Remus greeted Poppy affectionately, Fred immediately capturing her in a brotherly hug. Draco had also come to the Keep and was busy passing the last phials of Wolfsbane Potion around the group. Just one missed dose would render the potion useless. If the werewolves were able to keep control of their own minds when they transformed, there would be less fighting among them, and less of a primal need to establish a pack order. 

The group of werewolves were untested in this setting. They had never been in such close proximity when transformed, and there was no telling exactly what would happen without iron bars separating them. The Wolfsbane Potion would help,  _ it had to _ , Neville thought desperately, watching Poppy swallow her last dose of potion, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and pulling a face at Fred, who grinned at her and slipped her a wrapped sweet from his pocket. Neville shook his head, Fred Weasley hadn't changed a bit. 

"You should get inside," Remus advised Neville and Pansy, his eyes flickering up to the evening sky as the shadows deepened around them. 

"He's right," Draco agreed. "Even with the Potion, one missed dose is all it takes." 

"I'll be fine," Poppy promised, seeming to have noticed Pansy's anxious look. 

"Of course you will," Pansy said with a forced smile. 

Neville hugged Poppy goodbye, shaking hands with Fred and Remus before leading Pansy and Draco through a side entrance into a parlour, shutting the door firmly and locking it behind them. 

They were by no means the only occupants of the room. A number of the werewolves' family and friends had come to stay at the Keep to keep watch and be near their loved ones, even if they couldn't be with them. 

Standing awkwardly in a small group were Andromeda Tonks, George and Molly Weasley, Parvati Patil, Daphne Greengrass and Minerva McGonagall. 

Pansy greeted Daphne with a smile, as the Healer led her over to the sofa for a chat between old friends. Neville smiled gratefully at Daphne. He knew Pansy was more anxious about Poppy's transformation than she would ever admit. 

George waved Neville over to join him and his mother. Molly swooped on Neville immediately and enveloped him in a motherly embrace. 

"How's the little girl doing?" Molly asked quietly. 

"She's-- it's been a rough few days," Neville admitted. "How's Fred handling it?" 

"He seems like his old self most of the time," George said with a half-shrug. "But sometimes he's a bit distant." 

"He just gets this look in his eyes," Molly added. 

Neville nodded, knowing the look she meant all too well. Poppy bore the same haunted look sometimes after a bad dream. 

He opened his mouth to ask George about how the joke shop was going, but he hadn't uttered a sound before the air was rent with a dreadful scream that made the hairs on the back of Neville's neck stand up. 

He checked his watch. Seven-ten p.m.  _ Moonrise.  _

A cacophony of pained yells and agonising shrieks added to the din just outside the door. Distorted shadows were silhouetted against the parlour window. The werewolves were transforming. 

Tears welled in Molly's brown eyes and she buried her face in George's shoulder, but George was shaking too. 

Neville's eyes found Pansy's face. She looked absolutely shattered. Beside her, Daphne looked like she was going to be sick. 

Neville went to Pansy and held her, feeling tremors course through her as they listened to the screams of pain outside the door. 

Suddenly all sound stopped, a single howl rising, causing goosebumps to ripple across Neville's exposed arms. There were answering howls, these at a much lower octave than the first howl. The high howl came again and the other werewolves answered. They were a pack, Neville realised, a pack recognising their leader for the first time. 

Eyes gleamed in the darkness beyond the window and Neville crept over to look. It was commonly known that you could tell a werewolf's standing in the pack by the colour of their eyes. Many sets of gold eyes gleamed - beta wolves. There were a few pairs of amber eyes dotted here and there - omega wolves. And there, holding court at the centre of the pack was the alpha wolf, with eyes of gleaming jet black. A silver chain glistened around the alpha's neck, a single pearl dangling from the end of the fine chain.

" _ Poppy,"  _ Neville breathed in disbelief. He almost laughed. It was absurd to him that a tiny girl of eleven could be the leader of a pack of werewolves, but maybe they saw or sensed something that he didn't. 

Pansy joined him at the window and smiled. Their fears for Poppy had been groundless. Parkinson's and werewolves it seemed could always hold their own, especially if one was a combination of the two. The group of wolflike shadows followed their alpha into an orchard that stood a short distance from the house, disappearing into the night that surrounded them, until all that could be heard was the faint echo of howls. 

Augusta Longbottom had been right. All Poppy needed was a chance to show a deeper strength than she was credited with. She was a survivor and an alpha who would take the world by storm someday. 


	31. Not Enough Socks

Saturday the twenty-first of December dawned cold and rainy with a chill wind blowing. By the time the moon waned and the sun rose, the werewolves had reverted to their human forms and were quite ready to go home and be nursed through the worst of the post-transformation injuries. The worst was the effect transformations had on their bones. They were broken and lengthened to shift into werewolf form, then broken again for the reversion to human form. 

Draco, Daphne and Pansy were the first to leave the manor house, armed with skelegro potion, pain relief potions, wound cleaning potions and dittany for any wounds. Werewolves were known to fight aggressively under the influence of the moon, leaving gashes and ugly scars. Surprisingly, no such wounds were to be found. The Wolfsbane Potion had had its desired effect. All the werewolves had kept their own minds and resisted the animalistic instincts that drove werewolves to fight, hunt and kill. Each of the werewolves bore a bite mark though. But this was not from any primal aggression. It was the mark of the alpha werewolf, claiming them as her pack. 

Poppy herself was sandwiched between Astoria and Lavender, who narrowed their eyes at Pansy's approach, naturally protective of their pack alpha. They had no cause for fear though. Once the potions had been administered and warm blankets and cloaks found, the werewolves were ushered into the house where Molly and Minerva had cooked up a breakfast feast: toast, waffles, pancakes, eggs, bacon, porridge, yoghurt, cereal, fruit, sausages, hashbrowns, tea, coffee, hot chocolate and an assortment of jams and juices were ready and waiting for the exhausted werewolves. Many of the werewolves were former students of Minerva's and she took great care to make sure each one was fed and comfortable. 

Poppy seemed reluctant to leave her newfound pack behind but Pansy and Neville insisted that she needed to come home and rest. The pack could visit the flat anytime, and Poppy would be with them all again for the next full moon. 

Upon arriving home, however, they found Gran waiting for them, pacing nervously before the fireplace. 

"Poppy," she exclaimed with relief, rushing to envelop the child in her arms. "How are you feeling, dear?" 

" _Queen_ Poppy, you mean," Neville said with a smug smile. 

"What?" Augusta said in confusion.

"Poppy is the pack alpha," Pansy said, studying her sister closely. There was something different about her, a curious gleam in her eyes this morning. 

"Nonsense, she's a mere child," Augusta said dismissively. 

"I'm seventy-seven in werewolf years," Poppy said with a smile. 

"What happened exactly? Why did they choose you to be their alpha?" Neville asked curiously. 

"I don't know," Poppy said thoughtfully. "It was all so confusing and _painful_ at first. I could smell them, their magic and they could smell mine. It's hard to explain, it's sort of like a magical aura, like I could see who they really were inside, what kind of wolf they were and they could see me, my wolf. When I was with Umbridge, all that time, I always felt like I was becoming sort of less and the wolf was becoming _more_ , stronger. Like the more she drained me, the weaker she made me, the stronger the wolf got, like it was all that was keeping me going. I don't know how to describe it, but it's like I was always supposed to be with them, like everything Umbridge did was preparing me for this, to survive and to be pack. I know I would protect them, and they would protect me, but I didn't decide it, it's just meant to be, like some sort of instinct or feeling. Like I'm _supposed_ to be their alpha, just like you and Pansy are supposed to be together. It just fits. Like pieces in a puzzle." 

"I don't think I understand all of that, but as long as you all look out for each other, that's the main thing," Augusta said, squeezing Poppy's hand gently. "Now, you've all had a long night. Neville, you look dead on your feet. So how about you and Pansy go have a little lie down. Sassy and I can look after Poppy and maybe put a few sandwiches together for lunch. Go on now." 

Augusta's tone left little room for argument and Neville obediently collapsed on his bed, while Pansy flopped beside him, resting her head on his chest. 

It didn't take long for Neville's eyes to close. When they did, he had a very curious dream. He was running to the rooftop door that led down to the flat, a hurricane tearing along behind him, uprooting his plants. Every time a plant was uprooted, a shower of knitted socks would come flying out of the hole where the plant had been. He needed to save his plants, but the wind was too strong - it was carrying them away. He snatched plants up left and right until his arms were full. Then he dropped to his knees and set the plants down, pulling sock after sock out of the ground so he could return the plants to the soil. They needed to be in the ground or they would die! But still the socks kept coming! He pulled out sock after sock in an assortment of colours, patterns and styles. Where were they coming from? 

Suddenly a gust of wind hit him, uprooting him too and sending him flying. He landed flat on his back, all the breath knocked out of him. 

"Neville!" a voice cried that sounded very much like Pansy. 

It was Pansy! The wind sent her sprawling until she was lying across his torso. Suddenly the wind died down and Pansy straightened up, moving until she was straddling his hips, lust shining in the depths of her dark eyes. 

She ground against him hard and Neville gasped sharply as she worked her hips against his in agonisingly slow circles, his cock hardening beneath her. 

Neville's hips bucked, he craved friction and release as Pansy leaned forward and met his lips with her own. Neville invited her sinful tongue into his mouth, groaning with want as her tongue slid along his in a deliciously seductive dance. His teeth grazed Pansy's bottom lip as he kissed her harder, more desperately, needing more, _more_ of everything… 

He shifted his body weight, swapping positions with her as the wind started up again, their clothes torn away in the howling gusts, freezing air grazing his nipples. He watched Pansy with fascination as her slender fingers slid between them, tracing the fine line of hair from his navel all the way down to his cock. She stroked him and he thrust into her hand, showing her what he could do, what he _wanted_ to do. Her lips curved in a beckoning smile, as she guided his cock between her legs, to her warm, wet heat, drawing him inside her and moaning his name as Neville slid forward, burying himself in her. 

He slid back and then surged forward again, thrusting deep as Pansy moaned for him, begging him to fuck her, to fill her, to wake up - lunch was ready. 

Lunch? Neville thought, the word not making sense. 

His eyes snapped open to find Pansy gently shaking him awake. 

"Sandwiches?" she said. 

"Right, lunch," Neville said, shaking his head. 

"What were you dreaming about?" Pansy asked curiously. "You kept saying my name." 

"Did I?" Neville said, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "I was dreaming about um… _socks._ Not enough socks," he added, grabbing a sandwich to avoid looking at Pansy, who had a wicked grin on her face. 

"It's been a while since I've had any good _socks,"_ she said quietly. "We'll have to see what we can do about that." 

Neville's mouth went dry and he swallowed a bite of sandwich with difficulty. _She knew_ , he realised, seeing the smug expression on her face. And she was going to torture him with that information, he was sure if it. 


	32. Stolen Jumper

It was now three days until Christmas and the only thing Neville had achieved was a decorated tree. He still needed presents for the entire family, stockings for Pansy and Poppy, and stocking stuffers, then there was the food. Gran may be hosting Christmas like she did every year, but he had offered to bring dessert. _Why_ had he offered that? The last two times he had attempted to cook from Auntie Enid's book, the end result had been a disaster that was inedible. Maybe he'd ask Poppy to teach him, she had been making impressive cakes under his Gran's teaching. Hell, maybe he'd sign up for Gran's baking lessons himself in the New Year. 

On top of that list, he needed to return Auntie Enid's recipe book today, make one last delivery of harvested plants to Mr Mulpepper, start Christmas shopping _and_ he couldn't find his favourite jumper. At this point, he was half-convinced it had been stolen, perhaps by his mischievous Venomous Tentacula - it was known for stealing odd items on occasion, trying to tempt him into coming close enough to get ensnared in its vines. If that was the case, old Count Tacula could keep the bloody jumper. 

Neville settled on a plan for the day. He would return Auntie Enid's recipe book this morning, perhaps he would take Pansy and Poppy along and they could all have morning tea together. Then they would return home for lunch, and he would pick up the plants he had already harvested and make a trip to Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary in the afternoon. He would make a start on his Christmas shopping while he was in Diagon Alley, and then return home for dinner, and spend his evening with Pansy and Poppy, and with a little luck, he might even find his jumper by the end of the day.

He'd have to see about getting Christmas wish lists from Pansy and Poppy. Should he have asked Poppy if she wanted to write to Santa? Most wizarding children did, at least the younger children. Did Poppy believe in Santa? In many ways, she was younger than she looked, frozen in time almost, as the seven-year-old child that had been taken from her family. But then, in other ways, she was older, having suffered prolonged torture and deprivation at Umbridge's hands. The fact that they'd discovered only yesterday that she was a werewolf alpha only made her seem older to him, but maybe she didn't _feel_ older herself. Maybe she did believe in Santa. He made a mental note to check. The last thing he wanted to do was steal more of her childhood from her. 

* * *

Auntie Enid waved them all through the door of her small cottage with awkward hugs, but a broad smile spread across her face upon being introduced to Poppy. 

"And you've brought my book back!" she exclaimed happily. "This is really good of you, Neville," she said fondly. "I hope you found it useful?" 

"Umm…" Neville hesitated. "My cooking skills could use some work," he admitted sheepishly. 

"Well, no time like the present!" Auntie Enid declared, sweeping Neville off to the kitchen. 

Pansy and Poppy followed them into the kitchen to watch Neville's first cooking lesson. Auntie Enid supplied the girls with lemon cordial, tea and oatmeal cookies, along with a good hour of entertainment as she endeavoured to teach Neville how to make a simple chocolate cake. 

The end result didn't look half bad, perhaps there was hope for Neville yet, Pansy thought, as Auntie Enid placed a piece of cake in front of her and topped up her cup of tea. 

As soon as Pansy took a bite, she exchanged a glance with Poppy, and shook her head slightly, silently pleading with her sister not to say a word. The cake was awful. Dry, tasteless, and burnt on the base and sides. Pansy swallowed it down with her tea, the dry crumbs seeming to stick in her throat, but she was kind enough to vanish the remainder of Poppy's slice with her wand when Auntie Enid's back was turned. 

The rest of the morning passed quickly away as Auntie Enid brought out her old photo albums and showed them moving pictures of Neville's parents when they had been young. There were a number of pictures of Neville as a child too which Pansy studied with a strangely wistful look. It wasn't about him, Neville realised, watching her. It was about the missed years she could have had with Poppy. 

After a quiet lunch back at Neville's flat, he proceeded alone to complete his delivery to Mr Mulpepper and managed to squeeze in an hour or two of Christmas shopping, finding gifts for Gran, Poppy, Uncle Algie, Auntie Enid and even Aunt Ursuline, though no gift seemed perfect enough to give Pansy. 

He was distracted all evening, the jumper he had lost still niggling at the back of his mind. It was only as he and Pansy were shepherding the kittens to their little bed in the corner of Poppy's room that he found it. A green knitted sleeve hanging from under Poppy's blankets. 

"Poppy, did you take this?" he asked, trying to sound more surprised than accusatory. 

"I didn't mean to steal it," she replied, ducking her head. "It helps me sleep sometimes. It smells like home. And the kittens get cold," she added. 

"Here," Pansy said, with a sympathetic expression. She waved her wand, transfiguring the jumper into four smaller jumpers, one for each kitten. Poppy held them still as Neville and Pansy slipped the jumpers over the fluffy feline's heads. 

"There," Neville said, as the kittens snuggled up to Poppy in their matching green jumpers. "Now you'll always feel like you have home with you. Even at Hogwarts next year, but I have no idea how you'll decide which cat to take with you," he said, shaking his head as all four kittens purred and wriggled closer to Poppy. 

"Don't be ridiculous, she's taking all of them," Pansy said with a grin. 

"I can't wait to see McGonagall's face when you tell her that," Neville said with a laugh. 

"Oh, we won't be telling. Slytherin's don't tell, right, Pansy?" Poppy asked. 

"Right," Pansy said with a wink. 

"Oh she's a Slytherin now, is she?" Neville said. 

"You're the one hiding green jumpers. You tell me," Pansy said teasingly. 

"Slytherin's don't tell," Neville muttered, watching Pansy tuck Poppy in, kittens and all. 

He'd never tell anyone, not a soul, how ridiculously, completely happy he was. His jumper wasn't all that had been stolen. Pansy had captured his heart quite some time ago, but Slytherin or not, he couldn't seem to tell her. Maybe he would soon… 


	33. Sugared Violets

Christmas was the day after tomorrow and Neville still didn't have a gift for Pansy. It wasn't likely to happen today either - the morning would be taken up with dropping Poppy at Gran's. Augusta had requested to spend the day with her  _ dear little friend,  _ and Poppy had been too thrilled with the idea for Neville or Pansy to refuse. It would also allow them to wrap some of Poppy's gifts without spoiling the surprise accidentally. Lunch would be taken up with the long-promised double date with Harry and Daphne and Pansy had promised to help Neville practice a Christmas pudding this afternoon in time to get it right before the big day. Gran may keep Poppy overnight, or she may not, she had promised to owl them. All in all it was shaping up to be a busy day. 

Sassy had managed to get Poppy ready to go to Gran's in no time at all. The closer it got to Christmas, the more Neville realised how much he was going to miss the little elf. She would be returning to Mrs Malfoy's service on New Year's Day, and at this point, Neville wasn't sure how they would manage without her. But one problem at a time, he reminded himself as he followed Pansy and Poppy into the Floo. 

" _ Longbottom Lodge!"  _ he called, his living room vanishing in a confusing whirl of fireplaces.

It wasn't Neville's favourite way to travel, but it was a form of transportation Poppy could manage herself without the need for a Side Along Apparator. She was quite proud of herself every time she made the successful trip by Floo to Gran's, so Neville was happy to put up with the nausea that seemed to accompany Floo travel.  _ Happy _ might even be the wrong word for it, as he finally came to a stop, nearly falling out of his Gran's fireplace, dizzy, disoriented and in need of a strong cup of tea. 

"Ah, good, Neville! I've got a favour to ask, dear," Augusta said, practically the very second Neville's feet had exited the fireplace. 

"What do you need, Gran?" Neville replied a little warily. 

"There's no need to look so put-out," Augusta said sternly. "Your Uncle Algie dropped a tray of plant seedlings around yesterday evening and I thought you might like them is all. But if you don't want them, I'll throw them in the compost heap next door. I've no patience with the things. They make such a horrid racket." 

_ Horrid racket?  _ Neville wondered what she meant by that, but when he saw the purple stems and green leaves of the seedlings in question, he understood. 

"Screechsnaps!" he said happily, hurrying forward to examine them. 

The plants squirmed on his approach, emitting high-pitched whistling squeaks. It was rather like having a tray full of potted, over excited fwoopers all chattering at once. 

"Thank Uncle Algie for me, won't you?" Neville said, crouching eye to eye with the screechsnaps. 

"You can thank him yourself on Christmas Day," Augusta reminded him. "When I see him I might just wring his neck. Those squeaksnaps kept me up all night with their racket." 

" _ Screech _ snaps," Neville corrected her. 

"Whatever they're called," Augusta said impatiently. "Just take them with you when you go. You've got lunch plans today, haven't you?" 

"Yeah, with Harry and Daphne," Neville replied. 

"Well, you best get a move on," Augusta said, as though nothing would put her out more than her grandson being tardy to a lunch date. 

"Yeah," Neville agreed, lifting the tray of screechsnaps carefully. "Thanks for these, Gran," he said gratefully. 

"Don't mention it, just take them with you so I can hear myself think again," she said, shaking her head at him. 

* * *

Lunch at the Leaky Cauldron was a very enjoyable affair. Neville was thrilled to hear that Harry had accepted an offer to teach at Hogwarts next year and would therefore be resigning from the Auror Office next August. The current Defence professor was apparently disliked by staff and students across the board, and Minerva wouldn't be renewing his teaching contract. But the idea of Harry teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to Poppy for her first year was like a dream come true to Neville, who couldn't imagine a better instructor. Daphne would be at Hogwarts too, taking the position of matron, as Madam Pomfrey was looking to retire. She would be leaving her beloved students in very capable hands, Neville thought with a smile, thinking of Daphne's outrage at the treatment Poppy had received from Umbridge. Daphne was a very capable Healer and would advocate powerfully for the welfare of the students of Hogwarts. 

Neville was disappointed when lunch came to an end, but he and Pansy had a Christmas dessert to practice and Daphne and Harry had arranged to meet with Astoria for some last minute Christmas shopping. 

The flat was strangely quiet without Poppy's presence, but Neville was determined to produce at least one passable dessert for Christmas, even if it took him the better part of three days to master it. 

Pansy had proposed a plum pudding topped with sugared violets for dessert. Neville heartily agreed, all too happy to follow her lead in all things culinary, as his own skill with regard to that particular art seemed to be lacking of late. 

The pudding seemed to be coming together well, but Pansy was very distracting. Neville was sure it was accidental. She wasn't even paying attention to him. But his eyes were constantly drawn to her. He could hardly look away from the few strands of dark hair that clung to her neck in the heat of the small kitchen. A maddening desire to brush the strands of hair away and press his lips to her heated skin instead filled him until he could hardly concentrate on what he was doing. 

Pansy reached around him to grab a spoon from the drawer, her eyes meeting his over the paper sacks of sugar and flour that lay between them. A teasing grin crossed Pansy's face and she threw a small handful of flour at Neville, the fine white powder settling over his clothes. He scooped up a handful of sugar to pay her back in kind, but before he could, Pansy seized his wrist. A heat seemed to radiate from the point where her skin touched his, a heat that sent a throbbing wave of need and desire all the way to Neville's cock. 

Pansy seemed to have felt a similar heat as she closed the gap between them, pressing her soft lips to his in an open mouthed kiss. Neville melted into her touch, releasing a moan of want as he pressed her against the kitchen counter and ground his erection against her hips, his tongue sliding over her lips and into the delicious warmth of her mouth. 

Pansy gasped and gave a little whimpering moan as Neville poured his handful of sugar over her neck and then bent his head to retrieve the little grains of sweetness with his tongue, kissing, licking and sucking at her throat as Pansy buried her hands in his hair and spurred him on with the delightful outpouring of breathy moans that poured from her mouth. 

Pansy pulled her jumper over her head, flinging it to the floor along with her shirt and bra, standing naked from the waist up, her eyes imploring him to take her right here and now and live out every lustful fantasy Neville had ever had about her. Neville pulled off his own shirt and kissed her again, slowly lowering Pansy to the floor. He kissed her lips, then licked and kissed a trail down her throat to her collarbone, between her breasts and over her nipples, where he licked and sucked and pinched gently, trailing kisses down her long flat stomach to the waistband of her jeans, which he slowly slid down her legs along with her lace panties, drinking in the sight of her, flushed, eager and begging for his touch. 

He seized the sack of sugar from the counter above them and parted her folds, trickling a steady stream of sugar into her wet heat. He set the sack down and then slid his tongue into the warm, wet folds, lapping up the grains of sugar, mingled with Pansy's own sweet scent. It made his head spin and overpowered his senses as he swirled his tongue over her entrance, then licked a path up to her clit where he sucked and nipped at the little bud of nerves. Pansy gasped and cried out, pleading for more as Neville drew back to discard his own jeans and briefs, his cock hard and eager as he slid the head between her folds, teasing along her slit. 

He cast a lubrication spell, then slid into Pansy's beckoning heat with a groan, mingled with curse words, as her walls enveloped him. It was better than he'd ever dreamed. No fantasy could have prepared him for the feel of her, for the wave of ecstasy that coursed through his veins as he sank his full length into her, coaxing a gasp from her lips. 

He retreated and then slid into her again, his mouth finding Pansy's lips as he rocked against her, her heat cradling his cock, as he drew back and thrust into her over and over again, building a steady rhythm. Every stroke was bringing him closer to release, spiralling out of control as he thrust into her tight, wet heat. 

Pansy came with a cry, her walls clenching around him as her muscles shuddered with the intensity of the orgasm that coursed through her, spurring Neville to his finish as the wave of bliss he rode peaked inside her and he came with a groan, emptying himself within her. 

He collapsed against her, nestling his head against her breasts as Pansy stroked his hair and murmured wicked things in his ear. 

The sugared violets and plum pudding lay forgotten on the bench. All there was right now was Pansy, and Neville could quite happily spend the rest of his life getting lost in her eyes, in the feel of her, in the sound of her voice. She was everything - his very own sugared violet. Equal parts sweet and sinful, and he had fallen for her  _ hard.  _


	34. Sunrise Dream

Christmas Eve dawned cold and cloudy. A slight drizzle fell in the early morning, but the mild rain did nothing to dampen Poppy's spirits. She woke up early, as was her habit, and crept to the window of her room at Longbottom Lodge. She had stayed the night at Gran's; the effects of warm cocoa and half a dozen games of Gobstones had made her quite sleepy, and in the end, Gran had tucked her into bed and promised to owl Pansy and Neville so they wouldn't worry about her. One good thing about her recovery over the last month or so was that she no longer had to remember to take her potions before bed. She just had to brush her teeth, put on her favourite pair of pyjamas (the soft yellow ones with sandwiches printed on them), and allow the warm blankets and gentle rustling of the plants outside her window to lull her to sleep.

Gran may not be a fan of screechsnaps, but she had the biggest collection of orchids and ferns that Poppy had ever seen. They hung under the veranda outside, suspended only by magic and dampened with a cooling mist charm once every few days. The humid air and bright colours made Poppy feel like she was walking through a magical rainforest every time she went outside to play in the garden. Gran had an old grey cat called Segomo too. He had golden eyes and a moody temperament, but Poppy adored him. She often sat in the garden with Segomo when she visited and scratched his chin for him. 

This morning, Gran had prepared one of Poppy's favourites for breakfast - a golden dippy egg with toast soldiers and a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Poppy attacked it with gusto, drowning first one toast soldier, then another, in the yolk, popping them into her mouth with noises of delight that made Gran chuckle to herself. 

After breakfast, a shower and a quick cuddle with Segomo, Poppy was whisked away by Neville, who had come to collect her. To Poppy's surprise, however, Neville didn't take her home to Pansy, but took her by Side Along Apparition to the front yard of a charming house she had never seen before. 

"Where are we?" Poppy asked, looking around curiously _._ A big silver seven was mounted on the brick front of the house nearest them. 

"About seven or eight miles outside of Norwich," Neville replied. 

"It's so pretty," Poppy remarked, admiring the red stonework of the front of the house. 

"Do you want to see what it looks like inside?" Neville asked. 

"But, won't the people that live there think that's weird? It's not ours," Poppy said worriedly. 

"Actually, it is," Neville said with a broad smile. "I bought it a few months ago - about a week after the fire at Pansy's flat. I was looking for a bigger place anyway, but I thought, if you and Pansy wanted to, we could live here instead. There's loads more space and you could have a bigger room all to yourself…" 

"My own _room?_ " Poppy exclaimed, already tugging Neville's hand and pulling him toward the front door. "Come on, I want to see it!" 

Neville allowed her to drag him inside, acknowledging the two painters that had come out to the house especially for this visit. 

"Poppy," he said, halting her in her inspection of the living room. "This is Jim and John." 

"The painter Jim?" Poppy exclaimed. "The one that helped you find me?" 

"The very same," Jim replied with a grin. "Glad to see you're all safe and sound, missy." 

"Poppy," she said, shaking his hand delightedly. "And you're--?" 

"John," the second painter replied, clasping Poppy's hand warmly. "John Lupin." 

"Lupin?" Poppy repeated, wide-eyed. "Like _Remus_ Lupin?" 

"Yeah, he's my cousin," John exclaimed happily as Neville looked flabbergasted. "His dad and my dad were brother's, see," he explained. 

"So, you're a-" Poppy paused, throwing a wary glance at Jim. "Are you magic too?" she whispered. 

"No, no," John laughed. "My dad was. Good old Lionel Lupin, bless his soul. But I was born without any magic. A _squib_ Uncle Lyall called me. I didn't mind, mum just said I was normal. Seemed quite relieved she wouldn't be packing me off to a castle for school to be honest. You'll be about that age though? Off to Hogwarts soon? Jim here is a squib too, don't mind the statute of secrecy, missy." 

"Next year," Neville said proudly. 

"Well, I'm glad you got in touch with us," Jim interrupted. "What about this room you wanted seen to?" 

"Yes, we're getting sidetracked," Neville admitted. "The room down the end of the hall is yours, Poppy. John and Jim have got all the paint samples, so pick a colour, any colour at all, and they'll do it up for you." 

Poppy raced ahead of them all and exclaimed with delight over her new room, pausing only to give some serious thought to the colour of the walls. They were a dull brown now, but she wanted brightness and happiness in the space that was to be exclusively hers. 

"That one," she declared, pointing with her finger. 

" _Sunrise Dream,"_ Neville read. "Are you sure?" 

"Positive," Poppy declared. "I can't wait to show Pansy." 

"Well, you'll have to keep it secret, at least until tomorrow," Neville said with a smile. 

"It's Pansy's Christmas present?" Poppy guessed. 

"It is," Neville confirmed. 

"She's going to love it," Poppy said excitedly. "It's just perfect!" 

"She's a very lucky lady," John put in. 

"Not half as lucky as me," Neville said with a satisfied smile, signing the work order for Sunrise Dream and wishing the painters a very merry Christmas. It was sure to be a day that he wouldn't soon forget… 


	35. Gran's Tea

Pansy woke early on Christmas morning. It was quiet in the flat. Neville's hand rested on her hip and he smiled as he pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck. 

"Merry Christmas," he murmured. 

"Merry Christmas to you too," Pansy replied, pressing a sweet kiss to Neville's lips in turn. Before she could kiss him again, a shout echoed through the flat. 

"Presents! Presents are here! Come on! Get up! Get up! Get up!" Poppy exclaimed excitedly, bursting through the door and leaping onto the bed, bouncing up and down with more energy than Pansy guessed she had possessed in months, if not years. 

Pansy groaned and sat up. 

"Tea first," she declared. Poppy's face fell, then brightened almost immediately. 

"Sassy," she called, flashing a wicked grin at her sister. "Pansy wants tea or she won't let me open any presents." 

"No presents?" Sassy repeated, popping into the room with an expression of outrage. "Young miss is the most beautiful, caring, darling child that ever graced Morgana's green earth. To deny her presents on _Christmas_ of all days--" 

"Alright, alright," Neville relented. "Poppy, go have a peek in your stocking to see what Santa left you. I'll make the tea." 

"Sassy makes the tea," the elf said firmly. "Mister Neville can sit and open presents with Miss Poppy and Miss Pansy." 

"Fine," Neville agreed, shaking his head and following an excited Poppy into the living room where she upended her Christmas stocking onto the floor with an exclamation of delight. Brightly coloured, wrapped Honeydukes sweets rolled across the living room rug, along with a trick teacup from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and a very special Chukar Partridge quill. These birds were believed to be close relations of the legendary Chakora birds which lived on the beams of the moon. The quill itself was enchanted to help Poppy keep her focus with the waxing moon and would be useful at Hogwarts next year. 

Sassy brought the tea as Neville and Pansy examined the contents of their stockings too. Their attention now turned to the small pile of presents beneath the tree. Neville presented Pansy with a thick envelope, hiding his smile behind his teacup. 

"Neville, what is this?" Pansy asked disbelievingly. 

"He bought you a house," Poppy shrugged, beginning to sample her Honeydukes sweets. 

Words failed Pansy and in the end, she buried her head in Neville's shoulder and hugged him fiercely, too overwhelmed by the gift to even speak. But no words were needed, the look in her eyes said it all, as Neville planted a gentle kiss on her forehead and gestured to a long parcel under the tree that bore Poppy's name. 

Poppy tore the paper off and shrieked with excitement as a brand new broomstick was revealed - the Holyhead Harpoon, a new broomstick line that had been released by Quality Quidditch Supplies only last month, endorsed by Holyhead Harpies captain - Gwenog Jones. 

"First years aren't allowed brooms," Pansy reminded Neville.

"So? Slytherin's don't tell," Neville said with a laugh as Pansy elbowed him in the ribs. 

It was Pansy's turn to give now, and she presented Neville with a stunning painting that brought a happy smile to his face, no less for the beauty of the artistry than for the scene it depicted: Neville with a potted plant in full bloom in his hands, and Poppy bending to smell the flowery shrub he held, while Pansy read a book in the background, reclining against the greenhouse and watching the interaction between Neville and her sister with a smile. 

"It's perfect - thank you," Neville said gratefully, setting the painting in pride of place atop the mantelpiece. 

Pansy had a painting for Poppy too, a small portrait she had made of their mother, Calliope, that fit in a silver locket which Poppy opened, staring at the picture for a long moment. 

"I miss her," Poppy said softly. 

"Me too. But now, she'll never be far away," Pansy said, securing the fine chain of the locket around her sister's neck. 

Poppy hugged her sister tightly. 

"Can I give you your present now?" she asked shyly. 

"Of course you can," Pansy said encouragingly. She carefully opened the heavy gift Poppy passed her, surprised to find a ceramic pot inside that had been handpainted by Poppy with many daisies and tulips. 

"Help, I'm dying," the pot exclaimed and Pansy nearly dropped it in her surprise. 

"Neville enchanted it," Poppy explained, as Neville himself shook with laughter at the look on Pansy's face. "It tells you when it needs water." 

"I see that," Pansy said, shaking her head. "Very thoughtful - thank you." 

It was Pansy's turn to laugh when Poppy presented Neville with his gift - a recipe book entitled _Fifty Flop-Proof Dishes - a magical guide for the culinary challenged._

"Sweet Salazar, I can't breathe," Pansy managed through fits of giggles, as Poppy looked quite pleased with herself. Christmas was off to a wonderful start. 

* * *

Neville's extended family were both welcoming and generous to the newcomers and Pansy couldn't help wondering if she and Poppy had made history being the first Parkinsons to break bread with the Longbottom family in decades, if not centuries. 

Uncle Algie in particular was both friendly and kind, and both Parkinson girls took an instant liking to him. Pansy was thrilled with the lemon balm tea leaves that he gave her, grown in his own garden. She didn't doubt that Uncle Algie's love of plants had been inherited by Neville. 

Tears welled in Augusta's eyes when Pansy gave her the gift she had been working on for weeks - a portrait of Alice and Frank when they had been young, full of energy, life and hope. 

Pansy was worried it was an insensitive gift but Augusta pulled her into a hug and praised both the thoughtful gift and the artistic hand that had painted the likeness of her son and daughter-in-law. 

She took Neville and Pansy aside, pouring steaming cups of Earl Grey tea for them and indulging in a grandmotherly chat about their plans for the future. Augusta had two gifts to give that were of greater worth than anything costly or expensive that Diagon Alley had to offer. 

She placed a leather bound journal in Neville's hands. 

"This was Frank's," she explained. "He kept a journal during his seventh year as part of a Muggle Studies assignment and I thought you might like it," she said softly, laying her hand over her grandson's. 

"Thanks Gran," Neville said quietly, unable to say in words how much it meant to him to have something that contained the very thoughts and words of his father. 

"And I have something for you, Pansy dear. But first, I'd like to say something to you. We never know what life holds or how much time we have, my son and your sister, bless them, are living proof of that," Augusta said gently, glancing in the direction of the living room, where Poppy was playing a lively game of Exploding Snap with Uncle Algie. "I've seen how happy you two are, you're a family, you're _my_ family and family is everything. I want you to know, regardless of what your future plans are, that I couldn't imagine a better match for my grandson than you, Pansy dear. And I want you to know this too, whenever Neville plucks up the courage to propose, one of these days I'm sure," she said as Neville blushed with embarrassment. "You have my blessing," she said, dropping an amethyst ring into Pansy's hand. "This was mine when I was your age, and I gave it to Alice when she promised herself to Frank, and now I'm giving it to you. I know a Longbottom when I see one, so don't even bother refusing," she said adamantly. "I've quite made up my mind." 

And with that, she left her grandson and Pansy sitting in stunned silence and made her way to the rest of the family with the pot of tea, filling up their cups and offering them more Christmas dainties. 

"Did-- did your Gran just propose to me _for_ you?" Pansy asked. 

"I think so," Neville said thoughtfully. 

"No pressure," Pansy said with a wink. "But so you know, when you do, _if_ you do, my answer will always be a resounding yes." 

"Resounding huh? Know any places with good acoustics for a proposal?" he said teasingly. 

"I don't know, your Gran's garden seems like a nice place for it," Pansy said thoughtfully. 

"Today?" Neville asked seriously. 

"Today. Tomorrow. Forever," Pansy agreed, sealing her promise with a kiss as Neville slipped the ring on her finger. 

"Forever and for always." 

* * *

_1st of September, 2003_

Poppy Parkinson walked between her newly wed sister and brother-in-law on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It was only fitting that Pansy and Neville should be by her side on this most important of days - the first day of her seven year journey at Hogwarts. She was finally going. 

The perfect bonus to this magnificent day was the signed letter from Professor McGonagall, allowing Poppy to take all four of her cats with her to Hogwarts, an exception that had never been made before. And the most perfect thing of all was the poetic postscript in her mother's most recent letter, sent from Naples, Italy. 

_"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Lao-Tzu for the words that end this story (and begin another). 
> 
> Thank you all for reading along. I hope you enjoyed yourselves 🥰
> 
> And many thanks to my Panevillains, without whom life would be a lot more boring 🤣


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